Guilty Simpson - Shirley C lyrics

[Verse 1: Sean Price] Pursuing the papes, you give me the loot in the safe Hand on your throat, choke til you're blue in the face Listen, welcome to the zoo, I'm the ape Cornelius, long foregone so be gone with the silly sh** I write "raps For dummies" but I ain't an idiot I might slap you, money, cause Ruckus is ignorant Listen, I got no home-training Just crack water pushed through the holes of a strainer Chess boxer, sket popper, d**h doctor Kevorkian, a native New-Yorkian Back when Santana used to rock bandanas I sold coke hand-to-hand, fam, gram scrambler Game is old, I needed a new challenge Picked up a pen and pad and a grey new balance Write what I feel, I don't feel like writin' I feel like fightin', you gon' feel Mike Tyson Random Axe, random slaps, random gats Til my pockets Ralph Kramden fat, n***a [Verse 2: Guilty Simpson] I'm the sh** performin' Homie say I need a hit, so I'mma have a hit put on him The foreman, George better grill with caution Hole in top of your dome, you chill with dolphin Call it dead man's float But a diss rap to me is a suicide note Cause ya'll chumps is soft And I'll pistol-whip clowns 'til the gun go off How the metal taste, featherweight? My berettas up your level, help you elevate Cloud surfing, angelic Halo'd out and mad at the person, you can get it One-third part of the unmovable force Shoot your mouth, I'll shoot your boss, flat out Invested in the war and we won't back out Beef turns to peace with the big mac out [Verse 3: Fatt Father] I'm half cannon, half cannibal I shut off lights like DTE, you power his clip The only thing you devour is dick You all lip, I took trips to places with a pound or a flip Yeah I'm fat, but I'm proud of the sh** I like grits and long walks in the park where the cobble is big Psyche, total opposite, as rock as eclipse Empty your pockets, my kids want a pop and some chips The hottest to spit, widen as my logic permits By all means, I deposit the rent, with no rules My gangster way deeper than Pro-Tools Old school, catch me in the bar with a lit Kool and O'Douls From the gutter where they tote tools And sell crack out of two-room flats to cop some mo' shoes So rude, inherited from my old dude Instrumental terrorist, all win, I don't lose