The Best Out

[Verse 1: Hell Rell] Ayo, I stopped paying for coke, get bricks on the muscle Gorillas on they bullshit, welcome to the jungle Fiends get served in the hallway, welcome to the hustle Where bitches do anything for a hit of that glass dick When I'm outta town, nothing less than a half brick One-sixty on the dash, nothing less than a fast whip I floss when it's sunny, got money for a rainy day In the dope spot a few blocks from where the Yankees play Man, I'm heavy in that BX borough And we ain't gotta front for nobody, we just thorough And I'm sitting on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles Took my advance and got my strip popping with them nickels And when I'm in ya neighborhood, you gotta go high Deliver bullets to ya door like I'm domino pies, nigga Say hello to my little friend like Scarface I pull that fucking rifle right out the guitar [Hook: Bezel] Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out Jones the kufi smacker, he bringing them techs out Sporty-style, 40 Cal, he bringing Corvettes out Bezel the Beast, but I still show you what fresh 'bout You know who shaving the grams, forty K on the hand Killa, nigga, what more can I say about Cam? JR the Writer of writers And Santana back like cooked crack, he even supplying suppliers [Verse 2: JR Writer] The type that I'm tighter, tight cause I'm Writer Write cause I'm nicer, site for the lifers Knives in the cipher, Writer's a viper Listen this is butter Even Ringling Brothers see I got the eye of the tiger Before I met Killa Cam, I was dealing killa grams I mean killer grams, throws a tan, fill a pan Recorded in the hole, where you couldn't chill or stand No booth, microphone hanging off the ceiling fan Mass million fan sitting in the Beverly Hilton Watch how I heavy kills him, Bessey, Chevy, desi fill 'em But I still ain't break a sweat, yes, I'm chilling Veet bomb, seat wrong, tito gonna bet the building I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends Grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans Piff grind was mean, had 'em dumb stuck So when I say uncut, I don't mean behind the scenes [Hook] [Verse 3: 40 Cal] Yo, I'm a NY G like Jeremy Shockey Come through, drop my coupe like I meant to be sloppy I got DJ's kicking karate Cause they throw my wax on and take your wax off like Mr.Miyagi Pimping, I'm cocky, I slap your broad on the cheek And send her home barefooted, you massaging her feet You probably go down on a freak, you're hardly a meat But we ain't mad cause you proving you are what you eat Your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something We the plate in ya grill like a toaster oven, fuck it They even got dojas frontin, shaking your cola Only time your coke was bubbling, cousin Cal get weight with no problemo Ride around ya block selling out the car window And ya moms been know, that I chop rocks That make your father cop like Carl Winslow [Hook]