Cutty Mack - No Talent Rappers lyrics

[Intro: Juan] Whoo! Whattup Billy Nix? Yeah, it's your man Juan! Yeah (yeahhh yeahhh yeahhh) Street Lord Mafia It's your man Juan, "The Real Me" Go get that, in stores everywhere This a monster kid (yeah) whattup Kino? {"No, talent, rappers!" [- KRS-One, repeat 4X} Whattup Bo? Yeah, yeah, spit sixteen Yeah, alright.. yeah [Verse One: Juan] I fell in love with hip-hop, I wanna rap cousin That's when he gave me a brick, told me wrap some'n Crack some'n, act some'n, pack some'n, stack some'n Gat some'n, back stuntin, don't make me clap some'n I tell n***as once, then I'm back bustin Gats dumpin, that's nothin, pa** me the bag young'n I beat n***as bloody - weak n***as swear they thugs 'til they mugs full of blood, they say J nutty We never rock bottom, I'm on the block whylin Flock n***as stock pilin, squads out the drop clownin On my 7-digit, b**h you will never get it Spittin like that, I'm in the kitchen writin raps With the cheddar sittin, by the Glocks and the grams And the box of seran, in the bakin soda vision Where pots and the pans, rockin a slab n***as swear they the sh** 'til they rottin in a bag [Hook: Royce] {"No, talent, rappers!" - repeat 8X} You hearin the beat n***a Real n***as here witchu Juan Cutty, Mack, me, Five, Nine n***a streets is mines... Ride out! C'mon, c'mon Yeah, the M.I.C.! Yeah, regardless Yeah, yeah, street BOYS! [Verse Two: Royce Da 5'9"] Yeah, I'm in the drop with the top up with cash Mashin the pot with the Glock in the stash You boxin you possibly got you a shot in yo' a** Dropped in a box in the trash Chopped into pieces, stabbed with the top of you leakin Feet from the opposite half of you reekin Cops with they badges, keep 'em I stock 'em for cheap (yeah) charges get dropped Quick as I could get knocked then I'm back on the streets The untraceable track, mop and the bleach (yeah) It's a check if he gets on it, spits on it Wreckin the next n***a destined to flip on it For that paper with the dead presidents on 'em Best flow n***a put yo' neck and your wrist on it A soldier be rollin for dolo, for dollars Yo' flow to mines is, like a Rover to and Impala [Hook] [Verse Three: Cutty Mack] In a spot in a lab - and k**in n***as Is somethin that's probably tagged on a block with the mag While the track spittin mad, k**in whole staffs Whip opponents, I'm choppin the whole car in half I'm a gangsta n***a, if I can't care n***a Shank a n***a, make a n***a shakin 'til he skatin in a Ambulance with the sirens off, in the Benz whippin off Let my little young'ns take the tires off Real hip-hop (snitches get dropped) Cocaine, get rock, operation skip watch I spit it street cause it's in me I know "d**h is Certain" so I merk a n***a 'fore he merk me n***as act silly, 'til you catch 'em sizzling Put the semi-slugs in 'em 'til he sh** and pissin Remy I'm a nut punk, bust pump, snatch trunks Mashed up, smack chumps, look at 'em like "AND WHAT!" [Hook] {"No, talent, rappers!" - repeat 4X}