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letra de geechi gotti vs. stuey newton - urltv

[round 1: stuey newton]
geechi: an indigenous melanoid who revolted against those who enslaved n-ggas
gotti: an italian crime family that hate n-ggas
so how we put ’em both together to describe the same n-gga?
and history, just repeats itself
meanin’ this is me whoopin’ yo’ -ss twice
cause this geechi probably k!lled a gotti in my past life
how you rap nice when you bodied danny, but you couldn’t do that right?
cause somehow we still believe you god’s son, n-gga you black christ
but that’s life
so this round, to h-ll with substance
i infer no (inferno) bodies
you? are arturo gotti cause you do swell with punches, tell me somethin’
what if i catch ya queen and she slippin’?
and i’m strapped with a ladder and beam on the smith &
when i’m seein’ she’s a victim let it squeeze ’til it’s cl1ckin’
yeah gotti got bundles…but she never seen this extension
i’m mean with the writtens
and you probably the nicest outta ya family members
thinkin’ ya bars is crack but ya hardly black like grammy winners
understand me n-gga?
i mean, you might set up some nice punches
but jermain taylor with the bow and arrow
we can see what you write (right) comin’
the pipe dumpin’
and go to the roof and the rifle is blastin’
i named every sh-ll (shel) “silverstein”, see how i’m writin’ this cl-ssic?
that mean i put everything on it, when that sidewalk end i’m light in (lighting) the attic
but i don’t need a fifth to blaze him
cause i’m with the fadin’
the fist? obliterate him
no words spoken, just hit the pavement
sidebar: i used to suffer from seizures i ain’t had one since 2012 i feel amazin’
so you should know i just just bite my tongue and get it shaking
i got patience, but lately ain’t the same
i’ve been crazy and deranged, mania and insane
like, c-ck the 12 and your brains is on the gauge, it’s gonna bring yo’ baby mama pain
to see her baby on the stage, she gonna be like, “geechi geechi”: ‘lady marmalade’
f-ck you thought? cause i’m from washington i don’t know what to do with a rope and a shotgun?
f-ck you take me for?
and a shoestring on an uzi, i’m laced for war
back home, my n-ggas ain’t got no common sense
buy a chain? they’ll smoke you just to rock ya sh-t
for a herringbone, it’s like pheromones, they’re drawn to get a body sent (scent)
but you won’t body sh-t
yet on fb they address me like i couldn’t make geechi bleed
when a mission for a live k!ll turns to a staged suicide; stevens, steve
stuey a vet, and i’m suited for death, ’bout that murder business
flames to his nose, the only time i’m burning bridges
you heard i’m wit’ it
well that drum hold 50 and that bi- wait, wait
tell me i’m wrong
but you told hemi, “i’ll sn-tch your heart out and pour codeine on it. your pride is what i’m leanin’ on.”
now why the f-ck….would you pour codeine on a n-gga’s heart after you rip it out?
if you thought sh-t like that was gon’ get you a don demarco
the only person tryin’ to rewind that plain (plane) part is donnie darko
this is my sh-t, don’t forget, you still a new jack
i’m just bein’ frank from here on (heron) out; blue magic
this dude average, i’ll whip his head with the desert, leave his tooth absent
he gon’ have to rap without no t–th, my .50 too savage
leave his features, gone
no i.d. when they reach in his pocket
but they knew it was him, he’s the only n-gga walkin’ around with weave in his pocket
time n-gga

[round 1: geechi gotti]
n-gga you’se a b-tch!
see i just had to give this dyk- a reality check
blade to his face, then i’ma let it slide, like i ain’t trippin’ outta respect
see, i respect yo’ craft my n-gga, i just hate how you rap
all them overheads in ya setups, mafia sh-t, send a b-tch at him
it’ll be over head that he’s setup
spit a bar we ain’t never heard befo’ so i can give you some props
you got me feelin’ like a b-tch on the first night, i don’t really wanna give you this box
no matter how they hyped you in the buildin’, on cam’ them bars be weak as sh-t
so this -ss whoopin’ gonna be like when you get shot, it ain’t gon’ hurt ’til you see this sh-t
now y’all see this sh-t?
versus a n-gga that ain’t nowhere near deadly
.40 to his stomach, now stuey got a beer belly
hold up, you might catch me, sneakin’ wit’ the ratchet
it’s like a dm, hit him up early with them texts (tecs), it’s like a gm
you see him? he finna get shot up, like a black party
oh you went to college, right?
so you oughta be comfortable with a barrel on yo’ head like a frat party
real sh-t, i don’t give a f-ck, i”m goin’ to the block after this
this event cool, but it ain’t crackin’ unless somebody gettin’ shot after this
n-gga this, got a hundred rounds in the clip
you can pray all you want, bet it won’t save him
i let off 50, even missed a couple shots on purpose, i’m point shavin’
shave his top, that mean he get a bald head, he danny myers
headshot, and keep shootin’ him in the head until he got them rounds stuck in his head like, “that sh-t was fire!”
listen liar, you not a shooter, you lookin’ at one, that’s somethin’ you are not
who the f-ck has stuart shot?
n-gga my guns stay c-cked like the eyes on stuart scott
now r.i.p., but all that talkin’ tough gonna get this h0m- shot
he can fight back bet he still (steel) body like robocop
you might lose ’bout half ya face when the fo’ fo’ pop
the mortuary did what they could but, you don’t even look like that head belong with that body he in the casket lookin’ photo shopped
now i, can send a hit and get his mans to k!ll him
i’ll grab his b-tch and feed his baby sh-lls like hispanic children
child’s play, but i don’t, so i got rid of my new gun and went to my g pop’s to get that old rifle
them dome shots got him dyin’ from old rounds like the bars recycled
now you can rap, n-gga you got lyrics, they love it when you be spittin’ conscious
until i blow out his brains and boot it off stage, n-gga now let’s see who’s kickin’ knowledge
now let’s get it poppin’
somebody should’ve told this n-gga i’m not a rookie
eric wright, the only compton n-gga i know to get k!lled by a p-ssy
so please don’t push me, talkin’ ’bout you might violate
please bro, the only n-gga i ever worried about violatin’ me was my p.o
you not a g bro, i can look you in yo’ eyes and tell you a mark
i showed yo’ mama a picture of you and a v-g-n-, she couldn’t tell you apart
cause you a p-ssy! rappin’ ’bout guns you never hold and drugs you never sold
that’ll get you pistol whipped then shot
that’s a b-tt and a bald head like amber rose
i’m the rose that grew from concrete, i’m the young ‘pac
buck 50 his face, n-gga that cut gonna look f-cked up like yung joc
now this, where the .40 stop
i got a business mind but a soldier’s heart
i remember i had to aim the k down before it shoot
man that chopper change the way a n-gga bust (bus) like rosa parks
foes will spark, at his fam’, now f-ck he gon’ do?
i got a pretty chopper, that’s my kim k, now what he gon’ do?
code word: bruce jenner
(what the f-ck that mean?)
that means pop his mom too
i can teach you how to rap
you rep’ hunger gang, what type of sh-t is that?
n-gga f-ck yo’ crew, all them n-ggas wack
stuey’s banana now-n-laters
(what’s that mean?)
he’s the worst one out the pack
now pack it up
if he was lookin’ for an easy win, you better keep lookin’ loser
for all the fans that say they tired of my gun bars, tell these n-ggas quit bookin’ shooters
i came from cookin’ noodles on the same stove the dope was cookin’
servin’ rocks, we knew them cops was comin’ cause we had them smokers lookin’
now take a good look at him, do he even really look like a west coast n-gga?
like for real, really look at this n-gga
cause they asked me to k!ll him so they could finally stop bookin’ this n-gga
and when it’s real, they can tell they can see it in yo’ eyes
it’s yo’ turn, see if n-ggas gon’ believe them lies
n-gga time

[round 2: geechi gotti]
i don’t know what the f-ck you talkin’ about, but i’m really crippin’
ever since i knew what the c meant
that’s two choices, n-gga life behind them concrete walls or six feet under the cement
n-gga, true story, 12 years old i got jumped in, that’s busted lips
bl–dy knuckles, at least that gave me tough skin
n-gga you rappin’ for the b-tches, i’m rappin’ so we can make it out the trenches
ain’t no good time you b-tch n-gga, it’s all bad
every night we hear “pop. pop. pop.”
it sound like marlon and shawn tryin’ to call they dad
n-gga you ain’t f-ckin’ wit’ me tho’
next time you’ll take a rain check
a lot of n-ggas wanna battle gotti, they just scared of the results like an aids test
now i can trip and make this n-gga strip, look like he pole dancin’
two straps, one arm on top of the head, the other one under the chin, like one of them ‘vogue’ stances
now you gonna stand here and try to condemn me, for bein’ a gang banger?
but is you really in the streets makin’ a difference?
i mean d-mn newton
you promote all this black love
but the fact that you got that white b-tch at home got me questioning if all that panther sh-t is for the cam’ newton
is you dumb?
you never heard the old sayin’, you lay down with crackers you wake up with crumbs
i’m a crumb sn-tcher, you a dumb b-st-rd
and you got a daughter, right?
that mean she half white
all that stuey newton/huey newton, see i never pictured you’d be that guy
i’d have back handed that little b-tch so she can get well acquainted with the black side
yeah i’m disrespectful, but i got a couple of questions
hold up, what if a race war was to crack off and your daughter there, who she rollin’ wit’?
when she want to know about her family history, who she go and get?
is it her mommy or her daddy?
see no answer, this n-gga wrong as sh-t
well son (wilson), i’ma pistol whip her and leave her starin’ at the tool man since she on the fence
i’m on this n-gga’s sh-t cause he went to new york and he let reapah rell tap them pockets
see i ain’t feelin’ that
on nutty blocc crip i’m not feelin’ that
where i”m from, a n-gga tap yo’ pockets, you lose respect and you don’t get it back
this n-gga had both hands on yo’ pockets like you was gettin’ jacked
let a n-gga touch my pockets that n-gga gettin’ slapped
matter of fact, touch my pockets, you prolly feel a strap
catch me strapped up, in yo’ city, waitin’ to trip
i’m in seattle with a glove and 40 i’m like, [?]
n-gga watch what you be sayin’ and sh-t when you be out here
cause i don’t give a f-ck if you just like the scheme
where i’m from,, you can’t wear certain hats in certain hoods, we don’t give a f-ck if you just like the team
n-gga, what you know about d.o.a.? that’s dead on arrival
or find out you done shot the wrong n-gga like, “f-ck. he was lookin’ dead on yo’ rival.”
robberies in my city, been goin’ on before i got here
it’s gonna be crackin’ long after i’m gone so you wanna talk about “whatcha life like?”
so whatchu know about it bein’ a shootin’ in yo’ hood?
now ya mama scared, she steady callin’, she think that’s you gone ’til you walk in the house
now she happy to see you but still cussin’ you out cause you ain’t answer the phone.”
whenever my phone be on silent, that mean don’t you dare bug me
don’t matter how many n-ggas i shot
the cops ask me, i’ma deny i pop like the kid’s ugly
i fathered the style, now they all tryin’ it
bootleggers, i ain’t at all buyin’ it
so let me sell you some game
cause they say you gotta keep ya friends close but ya enemies closer
see, i find that to be true cause, n-gga i was ’bout this close to the enemy when i smoked him
i don’t f-ck wit’ haters or n-ggas that back bite
you’ll get hit with a stolen blade that’s a jack knife
crack pipe bar, i know it’s dope from the top of the rifle i can see his death
he got a horoscope, i’m scopin’ the scene, making sure the coast is clear
ooh the package drop, see that mean the dope is here
i’m a cocaine cowboy see i got the plug
you from washington, ironic with that acetone i be washin’ tons
tons of c0ke, bills ready to pay
glad i never got caught, cause they prolly would’ve sent me up the federal way
it’s way too grimy in my city, n-gga you can’t come (c-m) bump s-x
gwitty k!lled you, now i’m up here disrespectin’ the dead, i’m funk flex
matter of fact, f-ck flex
12 gauge shotty will pump flex for disrespecting a legend
a hundred shots? we’ll give that n-gga like a hot 97
time

[round 3: geechi gotti]
so to prove you hard, you had to come here and say, “oh i was havin’ shootouts in front of my mama house too with all four of my brothers.”
you lucky i wasn’t there i would’ve pulled up and shot all ya muhf-ckas
you wanna know the difference between me and you?
you would care to know i just don’t give a f-ck
see they say, show no love, it’ll get you k!lled, but that’s crazy cause where i’m from
we don’t show no love until a n-gga get k!lled so k!ll the noise
cause i’ll be in the field with toys
separate his chest from his heart, got docs puttin’ gauze in there tryin’ to fill the void
hold up, cause i done been shot at, close range, but i’m still here
see that’s how i know that i’m blessed
cause i done seen bullets chase n-ggas down that was tryin’ to run from they death
and they ain’t get away
see i’m tryin’ to tel you i done literally seen n-ggas run out of breath
you come to my set, you gon’ see these blue rags, wrapped around black .9’s
and who we shootin’? it don’t matter like black lives
life of a gangsta, cause i don’t got time for scared biz’
after i k!ll a n-gga, yeah i’ll pray, but not for forgiveness
just that my mama never got to experience the pain that there’s did
have you ever seen a mama cryin’ over her dead son?
that sh-t’ll give you chills bro like, “this sh-t sad.”
it’s really real bro
you like, “i know her heart broke. but with time, that sh-t’ll heal though.”
that’s the type of sh-t you gotta tell yo’self when you the one that k!lled him though
the steel low, i’m the first to shoot
when sh-t hit the fan, yo ryda, tell this n-gga “don’t dap me.”
cause you ain’t never supposed to shake a k!ller’s hand
only the real shooters in the buildin’ gon’ understand
cause sometime to get that gunpowder off i had to p-ss on my hand
hands down, i’m war ready
so if you ready, i’m more ready
i’m a gang banger so every time i walk out the house, i gotta be prison yard or morgue
that’s jail or death, i know the options
i’m with this sh-t, i ain’t never stoppin’
cause murder part of the lifestyle when you come from compton
n-gga them streets done turned n-ggas in smack battles, cause we don’t know when they droppin’
droppin’ like flies, i done seen n-ggas die everyday
i’m used to the ambulances racin’, i’m comfortable around death, i used to go by “murda” like pastor ma$e and
my [?] it was curtains for a n-gga if i had a prob’
i really used to put in work with that tommy
ask my enemies if he had a job
i had to rob, cause i was broke, i had to feed myself
lookin’ in the mirror at the end of the night like, f-ck it, this sh-t is it
n-gga, i didn’t even believe myself
mafia, i’m a made man, sometimes i hold the glock like a cop, i might even use that same stance
a n-gga gon’ ask me, do i give a f-ck about how many n-ggas i shot or do i know
h-ll nah, i got like four and a possible that’s a spades hand
aye man look, i am a gangsta, you right
but i don’t think that sh-t is cool
cause it’s f-cked up
i done put in more work in the streets than i ever did in school, so switch the tool
from drill to hammer
call gold chopper, sometimes that clip look like a real banana
so don’t slip and get peeled, cause it’s realer than real
i know n-ggas who ain’t never been inside of a church until they get k!lled
n-gga this sh-t real, ain’t no snitchin’ where i’m from, you would get whacked for talkin’
i hate the cops so much, after i got shot
i told the homie, “please just drive me to the hospital so i don’t have to call ’em.”
the .40 was compact, i got shot and i shot back, i still got a bullet in my back
see the field i’m on, ain’t nothin’ like football
well i guess it is somethin’ like that
cause i got hit and kept runnin’, that’s yards after contact
beyond that, all that sh-t you talkin’ i can still tell you ain’t never witness death close up
that’s just so cold sh-t, i was close enough to hear they last breath
sh-t i even see which way the soul went, no sh-t
we don’t even live the same life
sometimes that extendo hangin’ off my hip
i be lookin’ uncomfortable like a third wheel on date night
n-gga, night of the living dead, n-gga my hood like a zombie fl1ck
after i k!ll a n-gga, i go to instagram to see an r.i.p. post and still “like” the pic
n-gga that’s my type of sh-t
matter of fact, somebody tell ryda and jakk, i’ll ride wit’ a strap
so it ain’t no beatin’ me n-gga, i don’t even got l’s
that’ll tell you how i feel about the dmv
and when it’s real, you can tell, you can see it in they eyes n-gga
no more of them bullsh-t -ss lies n-gga
mafia

- urltv

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