4th Disciple - Glow lyrics

{*banging on door, followed by sirens*} [Intro: Hell Razah] You know what it is, right? [Chorus: Hell Razah] They don't wanna see us blow, they don't wanna see us with dough They don't wanna see us flow, hell no, we glow You knew it was the end the way we came in the door Hit the club and I'ma leave with your hoe, hoe, hoe My flames be hot every time that I throw Ain't nothing new son, I did this before GGO, my n***as flip money like it ain't no more 'Cause no friends when there ain't no more [Hell Razah] For the lust of currency, they put their trust in this country All your friends be cunningly when they hungry Jealousy wanna stop the prophet n***as hate to see money in our pockets but they don't knock it Sold your soul like stock markets, regardless We bare heartless, with or without revolvers We been this way before Godfather's or Al Pacino Catch me with blacks and Latinos Jamaicans, Mexicans, Malcolm X again with a pen Set a trend, watch you and your friend go copy it Got Boricua's screaming how poppy is sick The illest shorty on the floppy disk, watch me it clips Surpa** and outshine all that light you get First you live then you reathe it out, write it and spit And I'ma leave with the same deeds I came in with You can't die with those riches you've got, them b**hes you got Enjoy life before it can stop, it's too short What's hip hop without New York' You should of thought I seen brothers get their face cut over Newport's Stickup kids who live for you to take your shoes off We got lawyers working for us that'll lie in the court We still repent even if Christ ain't die on the cross Gamble life like a dice game, head crack, a row aces Dept pays off your sent wages This takes place on a weekly basis In this business of handshakes and smiling faces Hatred from the whole ghetto made us racist, exclusive Got fanatics can't wait to tape it Spiritual, so a secret agent can't trace it Blessed be the soul, seek patience We ain't too far from y'all, starting to worship a gold pagan Mystic God in the form of Satan, until nation rides against nation You got wars and more rumours of wars It's yours truly, every track out I drop j**elry I'm reality not a movie, you be sitcom A sick con while hip hop sit in my palm Let me hear a rhyme that ain't about crime and firearms I'm a quiet bomb, y'all n***as can't disconnect If my voice ever left I'ma use the internet Ask Meth if I'm hot enough to come as a threat And is it safe for you put down and place your bet' You want a hit record, tell your label cut me a check I leave them scared to rhyme, have a verse stuck in his neck [Chorus]