Z-ro - Quarterback Vision lyrics

Uh homie, you don't really want me to shine Like Boston George, ain't wanna give up his connect to Diego You the type of n***a that wanna come up, but want me to stay low The day I leave this b**h in a body bag, is what you pray fo' But I'm still living and ya'll haters get mo' mad, with every breath I take Sometime I might spill a n***a, but J. Prince clean up every mess I make So like my quicker picker upper, that's my bounty n***a My piss dirty but I ain't smoke, just weed in my brownies n***a You don't wan' rump with me, I'm riding with that big gun My fifty caliber shoot so far, I call that b**h my Vince Young If it's really time to merk you homie, I ain't gon need a rehearsal homie Cause it ain't gon be a commercial homie, it's s** money and murder homie [Hook:] Call me Vince Young homie, I got quarterback vision I can see the 5-0's, when they blitzing I see stick up kids, targeting Z-Ro for the sticking So it's pistols in every room, every bathroom and both kitchens Better go long homie, cause you know I throw long homie But, you don't wanna catch this pa** Touchdown for the S.U.C., we soldiers united for cash Touchdown like Reggie Bush on a break away, who gon catch my a** I don't know nobody that fast, whoo I'm feeling so Pimp C right now, call me Ro-Chad Yeah your diamonds shine but not like mine, homie that's your bad I ain't even a materialistic guy, I don't love money But you might think I do cause I'll murder you, if you try to take some from me Look at you now, you can't even have an open casket you dumb dummy And I sleep real good every night, cause ain't none of the bullets come from me So don't make me Floyd Mayweather Jr. your a** Like I was 147 pounds, one hundred AK-47 rounds sit down I'm official, like a referee whistling tougher than bone grissle Put so much lead in your a**, you can be your own pencil Z-Ro the Crooked King of the Ghetto, yeah homie that's my name And I'm healthy as a motherf**er, with seventy carats up in my chain [Hook] Now I ain't never been to 106th & Park, and sat on the couch But I'm a legend in this rap, in the South (ah-choo) Excuse me I'm allergic to b**h n***az, I'm b**h n***az intolerant So my stomach cramp up, whenever I run into b**h n***az I'm rolling in my Kobe Bryant, on top of Deuce MacCallister's I'm always in a fo' do', but I ain't never got no pa**engers Good weed good drank, big money mayn I don't get along with ya'll fellas, but I get money mayn Most of the rappers in my city, wanna see me flop Cause when I came back home from jail, that's when all they shows stopped I got quarterback vision, I ain't never been sacked And I don't walk with fifty n***az either, how you love that [Hook]