Quarterback Vision

[Verse 1] 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 nigga that wanna come up, but want me to stay low The day I leave this bitch 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 nigga, but J. Prince clean up every mess I make So like my quicker picker upper, that's my bounty nigga My piss dirty but I ain't smoke, just weed in my brownies nigger You don't wanna run up on me, I'm riding with that big gun My fifty caliber shoot so far, I call that bitch 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 sex 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 sticky 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 pass Touchdown for the S.U.C., we soldiers united for cash Touchdown like Reggie Bush on a break away, who gon catch my ass I don't know nobody that fast, whoo [Verse 2] I'm feeling so Pimp C right now, call me Ro-Chad (Bitch!) 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 ass Like I was 147 pounds, one hundred AK-47 rounds sit down I'm official, like a referee whistling tougher than bone gristle Put so much lead in your ass, 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 motherfucker, with seventy carats up in my chain [Hook] [Verse 3] 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 bitch niggas, I'm bitch niggas intolerant So my stomach cramp up, whenever I run into bitch niggas 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 passengers 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 niggas either How you love that [Hook]