araabMUZIK - Hammer Dance lyrics

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz] My real name, my rap sh** No made up n***a, I'm straight up, n***a Still in the projects where I came up, n***a On a scaffold doing ten sets of ten, getting my weight up, n***a I'm no shooter, but my shooters'll have your brain exposed But I'll shoot five in a second, homie, and break your nose Talking past, I'm dead a**, I was living Life fast with my pistol in the grab Digging in my a** tryna finish up the last so I can sit it in a stash Old E. sweat dripping from the bag Milk crates sitting on the ave While I'm looking left and right for them n***as with the badge My mom's dishes really had crack on 'em 12 12s and I kept that sh** packed for 'em, yeah they came back for 'em I can paint it so vivid cause I really lived it If rap fail, I stack bail, and show you how to get it! [Hook: Royce da 5'9"] I'm in the club, bottle in hand doing my two step While I got my gun in my pants, call it the hammer dance b**hes dancing on a n***a, when they feel the gun I tell 'em we're doing the hammer dance Two steppin' with my weapon on me You good? I'm just checking, homie Fam-a-lam, you don't stand a chance While I got this gun in my pants doing my hammer dance [Verse 2: Crooked I] In these LA times, I wake up on one House slippers and coffee, I know the paper gon' come I drop sh** that make the gangstas go dumb Keep a bad b**h naked like my waist with no gun I'm for real, how are you? Got street power, from the Watts Towers to Howard Hugh(es) How would you become me? I don't do what you cowards do Flip a thousand pounds of that sour dies' in a hour, dude I'm out my muh'f**in' mind f** a punchline, salute my muh'f**in' grind Ditching feds on the regular, they're trying to catch a predator Not the Chris Hansen type, but the Danny Glover kind I'm a k**er, everybody know I body your audio When a shotty blow, say goodbye to your barrio, you maricon You don't think that I'm about this Ice grill, n***a, put your money where your mouth is [Hook] [Verse 3: Joe Budden] My real name, my rap sh** f** with Chase, but the real bank is the mattress Money ain't new to me, been getting G-stacks Since Smoove B took his shawty back from rehab Knife work with me, but the chrome is extra Case I'm in the same taxi as the bone collector Y'all rappin' 'bout models, I get hounded by 'em Not a k**er at all, I'm just surrounded by 'em Just a real n***a, straight from my mother's stomach Ain't enough cloth for all of us to be cut from it Not decided by who totes lead Cause all of us would be angels for Pujols' bread Lot of hostility, hollering is k**ing me Screaming "Over my dead body," like it's not a possibility On my Jers' bullsh**, never mind me But if it's ever problems, n***as know where to find me [Hook]