Worries

[Hook] Trouble again, when the dwellas performing, why yo Worries again, when the dwellas coming skanking Hey [Verse 1 - Phantasm] Hey yo, it's the tall man from the group the cella dwellas I rock ruff and stuff, but no afro puff Y'all better start learning, for whom is concerning My style makes niggas vexed like mississippi burning All these wack MC's trying to be o-dog and manage at society At my show's iamb, that's when I get possessed by the gods like Raiden The Panamanian, Tasmanian, AK's like an Arabian Move the lady and, the baby and, I gets kinda crazy and Shady and, when I flex the .380 and Niggas got no wins, crush them like wheat thins Peace to all the shorties whoever hit me off with skins When them fed bloodshed by the liter No impala, 850 coupe two seater And mida, mida mayne, don't sleep One love to my all peeps that rest in peace [Verse 2 - UG] My phone pound blows Phone dials from the rooftop Stay in trouble like 2Pac, with 2 Glocks With dumb dumb and hollow tips Some swallow shit, others get grazed Others burn and cause to blaze, bruh Under ground, gets down for his So blond kids putting krazy glue on the eyelids, so Act like Po and get low, when you hear the ch-ch blow blow Of the boo-ya, bringing it to ya chest, hit ya cardio Muscle is the part of ya, hustle the bus stop To rust stock, to come from empty em Many men, big dust when the max lit When the track hits the dat split from the fat shit [Hook x2] [Verse 3 - Phantasm] You better prepare for warfare in the Brooklyn streets Don't pick up your chest or fake gats Cuz mats is what I run to, and gun through Bodies, niggas die for cash causing haughty Gotti is the Italian stallion I want to be like Me and you G ride cracks like ninja bikes Watch yo ass, cuz Cella Dwellas lurking Name ain't Anthony, but the shank's still perking Out my stoop got mad troops In my ride I wanna sun roof and stash place to make the gun proof From the keystone cops who get no props For these soldier toys, trying to be rough like corduroy If you want the drama caps get peeled, like that is real Like that for crab niggas who squeal like that And chit chat behind my back, lie fair face Them kinda tricks we convict on the stair case [Verse 4 - UG] Yo some bad news, like the bad Where's my homies? like killa now My killer style gets the check, so I can pay the bills To get the dills, run up in chicks named Beverly hills 9-0-2-1-0, the duo dynamic, so push the panic button How UG be the emcee, you can't see, like the muppets nanny The man be sticking niggas for grand (Shit be walking in the dark alley man) Like Chris Tucker, shit raiser, in the wrist band Riff and, open your mouth is like ??? box So stop screwing and bad looks Don't tempt me, to let the 4-4 empty