Cookin Soul - Rap Check lyrics

[Verse 1: Young Roddy] I started out with nothin, But now I'm ballin Coach had me on the bench, But now I'm startin I heard they cookin beef, But they don't want it I don't f** around with no pigs though, but I still go ham homie My last girl she be trippin, but thats her problem I heard they tryna k** me, but I got a choppa I'm tryna make some money, Like every hour They tell me hell is hot, I tell em my block way hotter Free my cousin mall, He in the feds Them pussies gave him 20 years, man hold your head They hate to see a n***a winning, and thats a fact I cashed my first rap check, and bought a gat Snitches they don't get no pa**, we make em starve Yeah thats word to Soulja Slim, I play it raw My uncle always told a n***a, to keep it trill Cream get that money n***a, that dolla bill [Chorus] I don't f** around with no f**-around So don't f** around with my set [Verse 2: LE$] Walkin what you talkin, Off em then we chalk em Deep toss em in the coffins, well we do this sh** too often All that flossin so exhaustin, but i must continue bossin On that interstate im sippin and im dippin to New orleans f** what you sayin, I never been playin I came in this b**h just to win Fake with the hatin, The Daytons we skatin Like we on the juice and the gin No safety this automatic that flow crazy they gotta have it That top shelf yall under average, ain't no webby but I been a savage Trill sh**, If you a G you feel this Sick with this sh**, we the illest Knowin a n***a gon k** it Can't go to the war with the realest Ain't no beginner, We gettin full of that dinner, Lookin like you gettin slimmer Boy I'm cold as December, ain't even know it was winter Steak and shrimp be on the way, all my n***as got a plate Eatin everything they got, leavin nothin for them fakes I don't f** around with no hoe sh** So don't f** around with respect I don't f** around with no f**-around So don't f** around with my set