Hol Fam

[Intro] Team Early Lot of Lexus' in the building All different avenues, you smell me? (Benji style, Benji style, Benji style...) [Verse 1] I got a lot of bars, I got a lot of burners Hold it down for my niggas that's behind bars I got a lot of raps, I got a lot of straps Got that 650 grand Coup, I'm a trap star My beard big and it's awkward, my voice different They said it'd be hard to market and yet I cornered the market Ten years later, I'm still here And people whose careers started when mine started careers departed I am, lion-hearted, I'm a a rare breed I'm my father's only seed, I'm my mother's only offspring Buck shot's up in the Mossberg, boss things My bitch got me feelin' like Sam Rothstein I'm b'out to LA clip her, we all sinners But the best of us sinners are those who are repent Neck froze, wrist froze, and it's barely even winter On my caveman shit, about to hunt for my dinner Come on! [Dialogue] We methodical with this shit Straight up and down – nothin' flashy over here That's how we livin' – three the hard way Three emcee's doin' what they do Nothin' fake here My young boy gon' wreck it From the Windy City Ayo Sean – get 'em [Verse 2: Sean] Chyeah! You see I'm in it for a reason, someone to believe in Learned to swim quicker cause I got tossed in the deep end My cousin was a drunk, and his father was a deacon Nonsense made sense, let that there seep in I've seen a prom queen never leave the nest And end up with more babies than dudes she had sex with I respect it cause I'm as real as it gets And I'm a terrible liar, so what you see what you get I'm living proof, of the talent that won't tarnish A monster, I'm fightin', I don't do no sparrin' My jeep got you wranglers looking so Brett Farvrish Claimin' I'm a 'burbanite but don't want no problems Put it together like no other Hungry as a child with no mother Twelve brothers, reppin' the three fingers Mind on a roof with no gutter Knifin' through butter, watchin' my thoughts hover Come on! Chyeah! [Dialogue:] We raining verbal terror on y'all fake emcees Your squad ain't tough Y'all peon-ass cats Talkin' 'bout y'all killers Y'all 16 shots can't match This 50 in the clip right here Real street niggas know what it is Ayo Tek – spit at these niggas [Verse 3: Tek] Young nigga – fast lane Usain Bolt of the crack game Never gave a fuck and I still don't Home run show and I never bunt No matter how much a money getter You still looked at as a black nigga I come through and I get salutes I don't even talk as much as my shooter shoots I'm still looked at as a boss I bounce back, after every loss I take a minute but I'm still in it I keep my family as my lieutenant It's so hard to trust outsiders If I'm Clyde, who my Bonnie rider? I just wanna count a million figures And have the jails open up for my million niggas [Outro] Marchin' through your hood, stompin' on your projects We the Lords of War – 'nough respect Hello world – we made it Come on...