Lyrics
From the floor, keep it raw
Yeah, yo, yo, yo, yo
Verse 1: Dray, Skoob
I heard that one man's loss, is the next man's gain
I came to drop the shit like rain and bring the pain to your brain
We leave a stain, ain't prayin (why?), 'cause the game's for kids
It's diggity Das, no doubt, back to shatter your wigs
These pegs be all on my back, cats be actin too brave
I think they better just relax, before we dig em a grave
You blow the spot, baby face it, kids can't erase it
or trace it, ya get'cha face lit, Books come lace it, what?
Bringin it straight from the lands of the crooks where heat, Books to heat
em
Keepin em raw from these Brooklyn streets, where Books defeats em
Flippin these lines like a polygraph, y'all niggas lolly dat
Freakin a style from Brooklyn, the home of the bodybags
And kids with no fear, bitches with no hair
Low gear Benz's wit chrome wears, what we all here
So don't stare, we there to interfere with the heads of ?????
What you didn't know, this miggity might hurt
Chorus:
It's diggy Das, raw breed
Make moves at top speed
It's the niggas from the sewer
Drink brew and puff weed
Giggity get wit it
Sewer rats stay twisted
Many people tell me this style is terrific
It's diggy Das, raw breed
Make moves at top speed
It's the niggas from the sewer
Drink brew and puff weed
Giggity get wit it
Sewer rats stay twisted
Aiyo, many people tell me this style is terrific
Verse 2: Dray, Skoob
Yo
Well yo, in Glocks we trust, and at the cops we bust
We just be hustlin for cash and makin lashes of muss
They went from AZ to Jay-Z, Nas back to Krayzie
To Drayzie, I fuck up your knot and then I'm swayze
Word, yeah, yo, yo
Well yo, figgity fuck a fear, want to bust like a flare
gun, beware, son, my sons keep guns in the air
None of y'all bitches can sue me, all my niggas twenty one gun salute me
Pick up the vine and rock the Kufi
Well, all I heard was Versucci, coochie for the lucci
The Gucci, but I just stay raw just like some sushi
My crew be ill, time to move these mill's
And all the drunken mawfuckers best to show they skills
Yeah, yo, yo
Well yo, the shit I talk, it be the shit I walk
Some faggots try to get wild, they bit my style but got caught
Like me and my man caught, slippin up at the crimescene
Fuckin lime green, you fuckin wart, this is my team
Chorus
WRITERS
ANDRE G WESTON, ANGEL AGUILAR, CHRISTOPHER ALLEN CHARITY, DEREK FRANCISCO LYNCH, WILLIAM D HINES
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
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LyricIQ Analysis
Top Emotion
Anger
Sentiment
Theme
Race and ethnicity
