Jeff the Chef - Rap Game Frank Nitty lyrics

[Verse 1: Novatore] Born and bred to cure infections like Amoxicillin I Run the city like the outfit did in 31 I keep my tongue game dangerous like Dumille Rap game Frank Nitty, lyrics be the tommy gun Connie Chung brings you the latest of my antics 187, murder, homicide its all semantics I'm in the local bar chilin w my heratics A mix of goons, cotton balls, Pinnochios and lampwicks I Go from Charlie Sheen to Manson in a millisecond Military tactical precision on the opposition He just a hustler not the rowdy type to bust back Moves everything that he can sell from dub sacks to hub caps Stab any f**in backs connected to a cold shoulder Mob soldiers leave you stranded in a river Cut the tongues from the witnesses and mail them out For any snitches thats the message we deliver [Cho] I've got a golden tongue, I keep it witty I got a court case in the burbs and in the city I never testify, snitches be a dying breed ..al capone thuggin rap game frank nitty [Verse 2: Novatore] Verbal attack, k** Morans crew in February Lyrically sharp like the skinheads and the blades we carry Very rarely do i lose cuz i'm ridiculous Like a crime boss that dies off from syphillis Sift through my syllabus I got more lessons than a teacher Kid I wanna hear your sk**s before I do the feature Box up some moonshine we'll sell it on consignment Those who lose the merchandise well see us turn to creatures f** the bleachers yo I'm on the court like Toni Kukoc Abandon practice in conspiracy with Henry Hill Choke you out like the Sprewell time to find a new coach Shaven points for my Cadillac Coupe De ville Blood to spill, call Alphonse tell him whats the deal? Who's getting wacked out and buried in a desert You can tell from the murder scene that someone talked Loose lips sink ships, unless their sewn together [Cho] [Verse 3: Novatore] Tax evasion wouldn't take me down I keep it clean Keep it squeaky cross my T's and k** the private eyes Elliot Ness with the fat black binoculars Crimes american like lawsuits and apple pie Pistol missing might get poked up like acupuncture Hollywood extortion put the cash in the sack Tight spaces make me panic yo I'm claustrophobic Tell the waiter that there's no way I'm goin back Walls closing in I rather hit the casket Losin my breath like a head wrapped in plastic The golden days gone we used to be the rum runners Before the vegas cats would skim cash and run numbers Zuit suits and a penguin tux like Cobblepot Wet work k** the rats off and let 'em rot 32 for breakfast lying in a train yard Die by my own hands it'd only take me one shot