4th Disciple - We Supreme lyrics

[Chorus: Dom Pachino] You know the team, we bust them thangs And when we come through wit them tanks, we blow off steam The team supreme, we shine and gleam So victorious and we always do our thing [Beretta 9] Yo, back up on this b**h, like ain't that a b**h Look at B9 flossing like I struck it rich And it's no stopping me, how low can you skip? This, CD power hour, and this our sh** And, even if you bought it, yo, we made the sh** We gonna blow like the grenade displayed on our sh** It's, k**arm' for life, we just invading sh** So we proving that we nice, even though all six Ain't spit off clip, you will still get hit By a six piece of head bar, followed by a kick To your rib, dick, I be Kinetic, you heard it here first Yo, on this record, I wreck sh** Bong, f** a song is on some next sh** The reason why we took so long, we had to go perfect sh** Bong, now seek the exit, and even though you gone We atleast get through a second, of the single flow [Chorus] [9th Prince] Aiyo, the Granddaddy Flow is still militant k**arm' we k**in' it, who wanna feel it? I let the rhyme spit Fresh out of jail, now I'm back in the mix n***as thought me and P.R. will never get back together Now we back like furs and leathers Fresh Guess watch, Gucci socks Beyonce on my jock, rap flow clap n***as in Crimestock He's my brother-in-law, never disrespect, pa Get your a** on the floor Strip to ya Victoria Secret drawers Yeah, so I can explore, militant galore The type of sh** that make b**hes adore Verbal a**a**in, lyrical dragon I write wit pa**ion, n***as stay flashing Got to hit the check cashing, hit the clubs Now I'm back on the map, I'm still macking [Chorus] [Dom Pachino] Back is the pistol popping, the knowledge dropping Green like the camouflaging, the living large fam Even though my n***a seen the slammer, we back With some bad mama jammas, with the hammers Is it the beats or percussion, the heat or discussion The Germans or the Russians, the blacks or the Latins My n***a's back, you n***as know what's happening Is it the scripts or the tablets, the dicks or the maggots The pigs or the rabbits, the bears in the forest The lyrics or the chorus, I bum rush like Boris Zhukov And wipe your blood on my new cloth I'm at it, I leave you dead like flowers in the attic I know I rhyme best with my crew, it's a habit Grab it, embrace it, and taste it like The Matrix I know we hardcore, I was raised in the Army, and we never gon' fall [Chorus]