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dj butter - don't try this at home lyrics

“you have agreed, not to try this at home. anything else”

[proof]
who am i?
i’m a basterd, i stolen off ya and blast at ya
smokin’ more blacks than the part time wars in africa
i’ll ?? out the martyrs for beef
rest in piece alot of you reef(?) designing your greef
by sn-tchin’ your brother, smackin’ your lover
paralizing your cousins, smokin’ your mother’s husbands
a dozen chosen showguns to shotguns
roll up on you with no guns but still pop one
i bomb like napalm from the curb to your house
and “please god” the last words out ya mouth
no affiliates, just dogs and troops
most lyin’ death than this morgue and roots
all we choose to beef, i bring spatulas
flip it and throw it back at ya, so bring your gat with ya
spectacular murder manufacturer, f-ck binacular
only heaters talkin, i’m trappin ya just to flattin ya
hop in the accura, roll up on the back of ya
chill out in 5, and then them n-ggas act alive
i smoke branches from off the tree tops
i hang with real n-ggas, pa’s, pk’s and pete rock
y’all n-ggas with pre-ops, spill blood and reeboks
don’t discriminate blastin rookies on the e-box(?)
your streetforce envolves just for excitement
like if you wasn’t you never heard of enditement
i sum it up quick so that you can understand me
f-ck you, your crew, your b-tch and your whole family

[bizarre]
bizarre’s a villin, b-tch i ain’t illin
i’ll pull your f-cking head off while your -ss is winddillin’
go heads the triggers of the penot scott villian(?)
vericons(?) march, atleast shoot a million
dirty dozen the first week? at least a billion
if not, it’s back to robbing and stealin’
bizarre’s the illest, the sh-tty is the worst
a thousand dollars for any n-gga that can last longer than a verse
and what’s the worst is i don’t give a d-mn
offer garth brooks a stolen grand am
come to your record label, take all your doe
take your rap name and have your manager booking you shows
i don’t gove a f-ck if we don’t get along
b-tches know my name without the slim shady song, b-tch..

we in this b-tch with dj b-tter
who gives a f-ck?
we in this b-tch with wallstreet and we don’t give a f-ck about nothing

“you have agreed, not to try this at home. anything else?”

[royce da 5’9]
yeah yeah..
what’s my motherf-cking name? royce nickle nine
a messiah of all, much higher than y’all, undeniably raw
quick to blow the f-ck up and reform again
the bomb threat re-occured, re-warn your men
i promise you get toared up and re-torn again
not one slur or word will be re-born again
as long as the sh-t cracks and they turn a loop up
i spit it until it’s pitch black and burn the roof up
better step the f-ck up for the sh-t getting spit
turns to whips getting lit, turns to tick-tick-tick
n-ggas be rapping just for the clubs, just for the love
that hit you had in the club sound like sh-t in the truck
that’s why i love that n-gga x, cause he raised my brow
with every rhyme, without having to take my style
it’ll be a cold day in h-ll when these two soldiers lay in h-ll
talk to me

[billy nix]
billy nix, i’m really sick of this silly sh-t
rappers, get on the mic, swearing they’re really spit
but you really fake, tough guy stop at your thirty-eight
drop your gloves and get taped, stop with your murder rate
alot of kids listening to you
wishing they you, wishing they was in a position with you to p-ss on their crew
b-ttf-ck all your sickness, we got the medicine
i’d rather p-ss on the capital, sh-t on the president
x-government, still flowing, still showing
i know where you n-ggas come from, know where you n-ggas going
we was all raised in the same dangerous cell
understand i ain’t a stranger to h-ll, i just don’t like it
rappers say the same thing getting retired
so i write something i like and pray that you bite it
take an old gangsta rapper and make him retire
take a young conscious rapper and keep him inspired
black man, where you at man, take a stand
they taking this rap sh-t like they took our land
f-ck america that’s right, you ain’t hear me stutter
wallstreet, dirty dozen with dj b-tter

- dj butter lyrics

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