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letters from dead rappers - black sunday lyrics

[verse 1: seymour black]
5 rep, 5 rep
no stove, dope flow, pyrex
i’m all about my flips
turn a bootleg to an imax
jug phone, trap phone – this phone, that phone
see money, need money, seed money
these dummies waste money and my time
sexy ladies on my hotline – got me looking like hugh hef
i’m booked for the top floor – why she tryna throw me neck?
came through with the top flow – got me rapping like you next
i still finesse – dissect, interject, fuel the jet
in the mirror like, “you the best”
and whip it like i never stalled
cause i don’t feel they shit at all
send shots, and i ain’t feel that shit at all
ten blunts, and i ain’t feel that shit at all
riding clean, but i’m ducked off like i need to be
doing 63 on cedar street – bout to meet a freak
hop out the linc, hop in the jeep
we taking over, its after 5
not much to say to my enemies

[verse 2: dredaprince]
booming like a trap, do this shit by myself
rep my own gang, i don’t need no more help
how we eating – with no stove?
came from ramen – in a bowl
hang with n-gg-s with no soul
n-gg-s frozen, let it go
woke up, toked up, loc’d up
realest n-gg-? in the mirror
east side, from the d – southside, in tha jack
no fear in me, know who my enemy
i show him inner me, i twist this hennessy
and then i get to swinging
banging, drinking, what he thinking
woodfinger – lone ranger, leave his shit hanging
young n-gg- with an old soul
you b-m n-gg-s – on the low-low
you so-so, like def jam
i can whip it up – with my left hand
best friends, what are those?
only pros – only fam – only trust
what the f-ck?
gotta always gotta k!ll a mothaf-cka
watch me dumping out the truck when i hit em up

[verse 3: king jam]

- letters from dead rappers lyrics

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