Tee Grizzley – Colors

[Intro]
Raf Simmons cost me five slips
Dat Goyard bag another fire strip
You in Detroit and see a Wraith, nigga that’s my shit
Would of pushed Rico’s shit back, I am not Mitch
Helluva made this beat, baby
Gettin’ money, why these niggas gettin’ mad?
Jump off the plane with a couple of M’s in the bag
If anybody play with me, it’s numbers on their head
We ain’t gon’ talk about it though, that’s the end of that

[Verse 1 ]
Trapping, I’m still into that
Address, I can send you that
So if my label drop me, I can still look like I rap
Know a couple of niggas living like they got platinum plaques (Aha)
All they doing is catching bags, sending out and sitting back (aha)
Rolls Presi’ on my wrist, I can afford that
Back in the day, I couldn’t even look toward that
When I was broke, I couldn’t even look toward the bitch
Now she suck my dick and don’t say shit when I record the bitch (catch that)
Been on the indictment list, tryna see the Forbes list
Went from playing with joysticks to out in traffic blowing sticks (Graa)
When your fans gets your name tatted, then you know you lit
Stank from my cologne, I’ma fuck her if she snort the drip (aha)
Promise my brother I’ma stack and get this paper right
But I’m spendin’ 60k a month just on everyday life
When you that bag, everybody wanna whirl it
Problems they got, they gon’ call you like you caused ’em
Fall up in the club, I can rain ’till it’s morning
Start in every game ’cause at practice, I’ve been balling (swish)
Heard a couple niggas wanna put me on my shit (what)
Tell ’em pull up with them sticks and let ’em hit, you better not miss, bitch

[Bridge]
I know some crips, know some treetops
Name good, I ain’t never sold no re-rock
All these colors in my chain like a peacock
I let that .40 slang ’till it de-cock
Ridin’ through my old hood, with some new money
Blue money, they that mad? Tell ’em do something
Got three Tennis chains, and like two Presi’s
Three choppas, four Glocks, this shit too heavy

[Verse 2]
Key to the pad , key to the Rolls, key to the bag
I got the key to the streets, don’t get a key put on your ass
When I do that, you know them niggas gon’ knock you in half
Heavy cash load, got my back broke
Bitches on the East, and on the West Coast
Sent me pics and videos, you can’t get my passcode
Ten up in the motor, got the hood broke
Bitch, don’t get yo’ head painted, you gon’ look like Lil Boat (painted red)
Riding through Atlanta with my nigga Lil Boat (Lil Boat)
Niggas trailing us and you know what they good for
Bout to fly to Cali and look for that good dope
If you ’bout that life, then what you looking shook for?
Told my lil bro, I had to chase M’s
Fourty on me, all big face bills
In the back of the Mulsanne, letting the space build
If the police flip me with this Glock, I’ma face ten
I ain’t supposed to be the shooter
I’m on top, but I still let it spray like it’s 4 days into July
I’ve been running red light in my city, I know it’s hot
I’d rather take the ticket, niggas want my top
It’s so many opp’s

[Outro]
I know some crips, know some treetops
Name good, I ain’t never sold no re-rock
All these colors in my chain like a peacock
I let that .40 slang ’till it decock
Know some BD’s, I know some gangsta’s
Get outta line and they a spank ya
Know some Pirus, know some head-bangers
Know some sex, money, murder niggas that’ll paint ya

Corbac – Le Dernier Samourai (Harakiri Album)

Oh, qu’est-ce que tu as à me regarder?
Qui, moi?

Toujours vif, comme au premier jour de cours
Où tour à tour les mecs te matent
Claque pas des genoux ou t’es viré de la cour
Tenir le coup, regard froid fais pas le tocard
L’oeil au beurre noir
Vaut mieux le faire que l’avoir
Dès le plus jeune âge engrainé
A évoluer dans une meute où l’ego
Se fait les dents sur les colliers d’à-côté
Où les réputations se font et se défont
Où les moins costauds enjambent les ponts
Se défoncent sans modération
En guerre permanente avec les autres les bandes se forment
On comprend vite qu’on est plus fort avec ses potes
En somme, voici venir l’âge béni
Où tu te crois homme, mais t’es qu’un con
Et il y a qu’à toi qu’on l’a pas dit
Les autres jouent les caïds pour une bille
Puis une fille, les poils s’hérissent
Les dents grincent on tape pour des pécadilles
Evite les yeux, on doit pas voir quand ça va mal
La moindre faille physique ou mentale
L’issue peut être fatale
On grandit au milieu des rônins
Chacun sa barque pourrie sur sa mer de merde
Chacun sa voix, sa vie
Devant l’adversité, les coudes se soudent
On pousse un kiai le doute se taille
Prêt à mourir comme un samouraï

On joue dans un chambaras
La fierté, la loi tuent, comme un bon vieux colosawa
La main sur le katana même si la peur m’assaille
Je partirai comme un samouraï
(bis)

Les temps passent
Baby capte grandit entre le fer et la soie
La soie, c’est avec le fer qu’il l’a acquise
Aux prises avec la pression
La presse relate ses actions
La prison souvent remplace le paxon
Le ponpon s’agite au-dessus de nos têtes
Chacun le veut pour lui un billet pour le manège
Gratuit, verrouillé la nuit les lampadaires se morphent en
mecs
Une seule quête, les pépètes
Quand t’as les sous tu drives une 7-20
Et tu touches des seins en lutte
Souvent on butte sur le pied du voisin
Espace restreint on gueule souvent, on en vient aux mains
Pour tout et rien ça finit devant témoin
Et va savoir combien de temps on peut rester sans voir les
siens
Comprends bien c’est une réalité, et pas une BD
Les sens toujours éveillés
Eviter les embûches, les femmes risquées
Les boîtes piégées les gens ont changé
La rue est mal fréquentée
Surtout sors pas sans tes papiers
Ca peut gâcher la soirée
J’ai combattu j’ai eu mon heure, mon jour
Je verse un verset pour ceux qui attendent leur tour
Et ceux qui ne rigoleront plus
On baissera pas les bras, on n’est pas né pour ça
Même vaincu, on se jettera dans la bataille
Pour l’honneur, comme un samouraï

On joue dans un chambaras
La fierté, la loi tuent, comme un bon vieux colosawa
La main sur le katana même si la peur m’assaille
Je partirai comme un samouraï
(bis)

LUPE FIASCO – Kneelin’ On Needles lyrics

Wa-ves… you say waves, I say wa-ves
Kaepernick, waddup?
I knew they was gonna do that to you
But it’s all good, though
You gotta’ stand up for something, know what I’m talking about?

Gravitons, orbit around my halo space, halo space
Little Debbie crumbs and potato flakes
Junkyard food meets 808s
Better say your grace
Stay your place, play your bass
And wait on a upright
Right up to them niggas that don’t like us
Writer, fiber optics on high fiber
Move
Quick like that, no, I go as, “ain’t shit like that”
Magnum entendre, rollin’ on a rubber
Hit Virgin for the album, I was floatin’ on the cover
I pit my car, they let a lad in
I was floatin’ on the cover, made a message out a mess
Got ’em clothes up the flow and taught ’em how to dress
Made a space so they can milk this way
Had ’em open up the udders
Broken off hat had folks in all colors
I wish a nigga would try and open y’all shutters
Cartier frames, Aoki on a shirt
And red and white chukkas
Why you goin’ all hard tho?
NASCAR star got bars by the carload
You know LF won to come out the top
But for this ten I’ma just open up the car door
[?]
Might spit the stash box sequence that I open up the cargo
If I break it down to your lil homie, might get a nigga CARTO
You ain’t gotta worry ’bout ours tho
DROGAS Light, DROGAS
And I might drop SKULLS as an art show
K-dot wants stretch marks
I wanna own everything that’s west of the best parts
KRIT, everything from the legs down
Mickey Factz, everything where the neck starts
Necklace, head heart, go, get set, mark, oh

Turn the mics up
Like a nigga ’round fight club
And the fuzz came through to indict us
But it’s an inside job to decrease the supply then turn around and drive all the price up
I be speaking it right
But it’s hard to believe that people still believe that Jesus is white
Oh Lord
I be speaking it right
But it’s hard to believe that people still believe that Jesus is white
All right, all right, oh Lord

But, I’m back to the mentally
And it’s not about natural ability
You would think that Kaep took a shat on the Statue of Liberty
God damn
It’s like we’re trapped in a memory
Untrue facts where black is an injury
It makes we wanna snap, just slap me an enemy
Then go into the back and just rap to infinity
Fuck, be more like Chance
Solo acts be more like bands
Adversaries be more like fans
BD’s and GD’s be more like fam
I’m just vying for the summer
Women lie, men lie
And everybody lie about the numbers
Hard to be smart when the only thing on your mind
Is dying from a thumper
I know I’m weird but nigga it’s real
Better to hear it from a nigga like Lu
Before you hear it from a nigga like Trump
Talking to a nigga like you
Oh Lord

Turn the mics up
Like a nigga ’round fight club
And the fuzz came through to indict us
But it’s an inside job to decrease the supply then turn around and drive all the price up
I be speaking it right
But it’s hard to believe that people still believe that Jesus is white
Oh Lord
I be speaking it right
But it’s hard to believe that people still believe that Jesus is white
All right, all right, oh Lord