Storm - Lay Low lyrics

[Intro] [Verse 1: Jay Rock] It's Jay Rock n***as know how I get down Kick in the door, waving that [?] All in your house searching for those pounds Lay it down for ya hear that (buck buck) sound Look at my face, you see we ain't playin' now War for the money we'll tear this f**in' place down Movin' from state to state like greyhounds Face rounds cause we ridin' on blades now In the hood, sittin' on something clean Big a** eagle in my lap with a red beam Pop that head dog in my canteen Plus that [?] kush got my a** on the damn lean Rock'll never handcuff a ho p**y is power, I would never ever love another ho But b**h n***as better lay low Clap the back of ya head knock your face on the f**ing floor [Hook: Jay Rock] See me in the hood on my gangsta tip loadin' clips You better lay low Got a gat in my hand when I'm smokin' a spliff, if you trip I'll let my sh** blow If you see me runnin' round with an AK off in my hand You better get ghost And I'm bout to do some sh** that you might not understand I'll let them chills go [Verse 2: Storm] Yeah you know my style no need for introductions I keep the full clip plus repercussions sh** it's nothin' to the floss type Look at my ring finger you get frostbite Hella chicks so I gotta keep 'em with me man Storm blow warm wind n***a chain [?] Plus I hold my on spot I'm a leader fam Bet the TEC have you flyin' like you Peter Pan If you all about your paper I'll f** with you Get the diamonds, get the clothes, get the truck with you Close my mouth, hide them guns, I'll tuck with you [?] b**h I got a buck with ya Hood rich I'm the strongest b**h on my team And I got 16's that'll make you scream And my sixteen clips make n***as lean Had you looking Indian with my red beam [Hook] [Verse 3: Jay Rock] Gat black like charcoal, let off rounds See the barrel smokin' like a Marlboro Pushin' coke I ain't talkin' bout soda n***a, I'm talkin' bout yola Breakin' down [?] Fiends at the back door, give 'em what they ask for May I take your order? I'm a Watts living soldier From the projects Keep Glocks in our pants no holsters Watch what you when you approach us Get your a** stepped on like co*kroaches Play the game by ourselves no coaches No father figures, the streets were our Moses Fake gangstas, I call 'em hoes They full of sh** like toilet bowls First draft pick now I'm makin' major dough Now these chickas wanna lick me like an envelope [Hook]