Party Arty - The Club lyrics

[OC] The whole city's under siege when we come through wit guns blazin You need to take a seat son, you just started shavin Respect ya elders, stay in a child's play The monotone flow stayin even wit the ba** Oh good Lord, we throw it like a javelin toss Arrogance is the feature that we added for floss Come and get headline, destined to get riches From either rappin our a** off or brick shipments Cover all regions, makin sure the product gets spread out We talk behind the mac you bust lead out Wit next prospect, no particular concept do we follow Smooth but yet solid like marble [Diamond] n***as ain't f**in wit D, f**in wit me Lookin at me like "Yo, what can it be?" In the wide body-7 while you s**in the D Spent out in the wedge while I'm f**in for free Scared to d**h like you stuck in a tree I'mma stretch your a** out like I'm cuttin the deed Frontin like a big man but you stuck in a three So you know your floss game ain't nuttin to me When the sun hits the cross, yo it's something to see R-B, Kid Capri n***as runnin wit me Twenty karats on the wrist ain't nuttin to me Do you no good frontin to me, n***a [Kid Capri] Aiyyo Tone, let's Touch these n***as wit the wand Then blow up like a bomb Made moves faster than the Autobahn The Kid Capri is a institution, and all ya'll n***as is pollution Starin up a whole lot of confusion It's simple, let's move out all these corn cats And disc jock dissin MC's that got the borin raps f** what ya got, grimy n***as don't wanna hear it n***as take it, soon as they near it, you better fear it Bronx Bomber, the pretty-fly girl charmer The black Italian, the cash keep pilin as I'm smilin So hear me now, I bring the thunder plus the rumble And I'll step back and watch your whole career just crumble [AG] Well it's the cheeba steamer, brains on trains, won't eat her neither Benz to the plane, off the plane to the Beemer Insane and off the meter, in the rain I'll heat up And ya'll can't stop my sunshine, f** one-time Got heavy wit gats to push your face back Trash-a** album sound like you played it on eight-track Rip you from the roots and under Triple gooses in the summer Mean long guns is producin the thunder Convertible Hummers, we sh** on the Glock Try to put the roof up, I'll tell Show to piss on the top Wrist on the watch, roll wit a click or a Glock Plan on gettin a lot, from spittin or not Cool wit n***as that be flippin a lot Probably got sh** on your block And if you hate, I'll take it back to '88 (n***a, get off the top) It's two-g's, let's get this money, you wit it or not But I'll switch topics like my b**h wit thongs in the tropics Make hits, straight hits Perform as long as I got it Seven-digits wit my name on the dotted Remain Dirty and potted, ya'll know me for the ruckus G.D. I only can f** wit Get the dutch and tell Tony to Touch it [Party Artie] Guns, I tote them things Blunts, I smoke them things Rhymes, I wrote them things It's no such thing, as hoes fron-ting We run train, I do my thug thing Grab the mic and leave a mud stain So get Tide wit bleach when I rhyme wit beats n***as do crimes to eat No pork, I don't talk, the nines just speak I'm the kind to creep on your block wit the heat co*ked Got the street locked, smackin n***as out they Reeboks It's Party Artie, I get dirty wit the Ewoks The infrared hit you in the head from three blocks Away, Been There Done That like Dr. Dre It Ain't My Fault like Silkk the Shocker say Ya'll n***as gots to pay, shots'll spray From the Bronx to Far Rockaway My whole team, strapped like Bokeem f** bein in jail, trapped wit no cream [Lord Finesse] I be the don that's known to have the style sewn More cheese than calzones, give chicks the dialtone Build like brownstones when we slaughter your plan Touch albums, so hot comes wit a portable fan Type to starve the mic when I hog the light Lay my life on the line if the odds is right Gettin the, spot and gleam while you plot and scheme To stop the team, three words n***a: watch and dream You just mad hater, cuz we movin wit dough You don't make sense like wearin suede shoes in the snow Finesse frontin? Y'all know me, I don't stress nuttin Bought your album, that's how I broke the eject bu*ton Don't stress dudes, we just plot our next move Make n***as look stupid like joggin pants wit dress shoes The prophet, sh** john blaze like the tropics Type of n***a need a ? just for my pockets Don't flex punks, we s** stunts, collect lumps You flossin now, you be pardon by next month Type of thug, yo I was born to bug Waitin for us to fall, n***a join the club, what