Lyrics Chiraq vs Ny - Montana of 300

They never thought it would happen this rappin′ stuff
Was facing cases because I got caught with gats and stuff
My haters thought I wouldn't elevate from that trappin′ stuff
And fuck twelve they want me back in the back with cuffs
God knows my needs that's why I never ask for much
I work for mine I swear I never had good luck
My past was rough, my moms was high my dad was drunk
Start baggin' up, I used to feed my mattress bucks
Rap god a.k.a. hip hop′s asthma pump
Don′t pass I'm clutch I′m gladiator Maximus
About my bills when I spit like I'm Daffy Duck
Expose the truth then turn and tell your pastor, "church"
They want beef until I give ′em what they askin' for
They ratchet tucked Bruce Wayne the way we maskin′ up
We ride with straps you niggas better fasten up
I keep the pump in my whip like I'm gassin' up
That′s big sticks when we slide and we don′t pass the puck
The only time they want smoke is when you pass the blunt
We on your lawn with them choppas like your grass gettin' cut
I blast, I bust, you die you just got whacked and touched
Your bitch in heat
She say she want me bad as fuck
The head was good
Deep throat like a giraffe and stuff
She gagged and sucked
Bitch damn near made me crash my truck
The ass was pumped, I did my thing I smashed, I fucked
And you ain′t winning if you spendin' more than stackin′ up
If you ain't mastering the math of your cash, you′ll flunk
I'm FGE, them Titans scared to clash with us
I'm in my bag bitch don′t ever think I′m packin' up
Way before the rappin′ bitch I was trappin' I used to touch bands
I got to that bag from the floor just like a dustpan
How is there so much creativity up in one man?
Giving kids food for their thoughts I feel like a lunch man
Niggas spent their last on a pair of shoes with a jumpman
Feeling like a mill when he walk, he must be a Bucks fan
And I′m no longer stuffing pounds in the duffle, son
I stay on you 'cause I care to see you smile and I love you
If you don′t add to the big picture you won't value the puzzle
Please teach your kids that life is awesome
Sometimes allow 'em to struggle
And if they spend more than they stack
Then they won′t value the hustle
If you can′t nip shit in the bud and push then how you the muscle
Huh? Boss shit, call up my hitters and tell 'em tell fam
Hop out, put that strap to his head like he Quailman
Replace the hammers used and then pay him after they nail fam
What you know about killers comin′ dressed as a mailman
My homie told me I really don't think they ready, fam
I bet he drop when I roll up on him just like the jelly, fam
We cuttin′ I put that on my blood just like a band-aid
We comin' ′round that bitch blowing at you faster than fan blades
See, I just wanna see every one of my mans paid
Mama in the mansion relaxing, don't need a damn thing
Drinkin' lemonade with her feet up under the damn shade
Niggas didn′t wanna believe me until them bands came
Knowing when I go in I′m known to go on a rampage
Madness written all over they faces like Macho Man shades
It's like, ever since I got my bag right (woo!)
All these bitches wanna act nice
It′s money over bitches I'm pimpin′ 'em like a Cadillac
Bitches know I′m lit yeah I got 'em drippin' like candle wax
Thinkin′ ′bout the top, reachin' for my belt like a ladder match
He say he want smoke plus his bitch on my pipe, I had to crack
Rap god, baby, my lyrics could cure cataracts
Arsonal just said, "niggas lucky that you don′t battle rap"
The fake be flippin' sides for that money just like an acrobat
The real ones gonna ride through them ups and downs
Like a camel′s back
One life in God's house
Ain′t no second life where the attic at
From the struggle I had to grind to get out my habitat
Orange and green buds by the pound
It's looking like Apple Jacks
Four hundred forty-eight
When I package that, clients back to back
Matter of fact, only you pussy niggas get mad at facts
I put that on my sons it ain't really nothin′ to have you whacked
If Kris Kross, he can get thirty up out they Daddy Mac
That′s thirty for you haters, I'm shooting tell ′em come hack-a-Shaq
Pictures with my kids in my cribs ain't no need to caption that
Ain′t nothin' like the hugs from your cubs
When they know they daddy back
My daughter mother strapped, .22 in that Gucci fanny pack
Plus I dropped a bag on her kicks, nigga that′s hacky sack
G-O-D my chauffeur he opened that damned door for us
Labels ain't controllin' us, ballin′ like no one′s holdin' us
Every line′s potent that's why they come get they dope from us
And this is not a brothel, I promise you ain′t no hoe in us
Big choppas, takin' off tops, that′s can openers
The bullets in my clip, yellin', "pussy come get a load of us"
Teflon in my jacket, I'm Spawn with that ratchet
Put pawns in a casket, who wants to get it crackin′?
I′m a hundred like Wilt, tell your nigga he ain't built
If he act rowdy I′ma pipe her, then that nigga gettin' killed
Skrrt off up in traffic bitch I′m smooth like silk
Left him wet and what came out that .40 cal wasn't milk
Know your part, go home if you ain′t goin' hard
The coldest art that's ripping rappers′ souls apart
Came from the bottom I ain′t going back like Rosa Parks
These other rappers don't compare to me like Noah′s Ark