Troy Ave - The Intro (BSB Vol. 6) lyrics

[Verse 1: Young Lito] Look, it's the rook the vets fear A breath of fresh air and Js from next year Haters talk threats but see me and just stare While I'm pushing something foreign, fast and next gear I be bossing, convertible Porsche'ing Thank God my momma ain't get that abortion Balling on these haters sometimes can be exhausting But I'm ‘a keep stunting ‘till they put me in a coffin Young n***a talking all greezy, j**elry all freezy Five chains on, momma says I look cheezy But these women love me, they tell me they'll never leave me I just want the money, these honeys gotta be easy I'm living ‘Vida Loca', riding with the toaster Sold c**a ‘cause being broke wasn't kosher Teacher said go to college, me, I said ‘no, sir' I want a roadster and you drive a Toyota I'm riding on the road to riches, flexing I ain't even into fitness, it's a blessing On everything, God's my witness, I was stressing But now a n***a back to business That Lito tape [Interlude: Troy Ave] Man, we built this sh** from the ground up Self-made and self paid so the haters got they frowns up sh**, as long as the b**hes and the bank tellers smiling, it don't matter Real n***as never get involved in chitter-chatter, I'm over it See-me-out type of n***a And we be out on the regular n***as couldn't call me out if they had my cellular Hello? Bad reception, Metro PCS a** n***as BSB Records is the number one independent label in the streets We're about to run the game and you can smell defeat Ah, that's the smell of success, n***as Young Lito, a.k.a. Young [Flito?] You're up next, I'm ‘a shoot like a free throw [Verse 2: Young Lito] Yo, Ave told you, Lito's taking over Straight from the bottom and ‘bout to bubble like soda That's shook-up, don't even ask what's up ‘Cause clearly it's me, you motherf**ers better look up I'm probably in a spaceship, neck full of stones on some “grave” sh** Styling on them n***as that you came with You n***as is basic, ain't ‘bout action, you just say sh** Till that big Mac curl you up like a wave kick [Pakah?], n***a I ain't a rapper I'm a gun clapper in the field like a Packer But this AR ain't got a team, it's got a beam If you're frontin', I'm ‘a let it b'ring, I do my thing Man, you haters don't move me, n***as know I do me Eight grade I had eightballs in my Coogi Had all the Jordans, but a n***a wanted Gucci So my greed ‘d turn your Pops into Pookie Girls and the groupies, friends and the haters sh**, I just wanted to shine like Vegas But n***as don't want to see you shine when their light's dim Them other n***as wash, man I ain't nothing like them It's Lito