single minded pros – who’s fucking with this? lyrics
[intro: breez evahflowin’, c-rayz walz, and j.u.i.c.e.]
c-rayz walz: c-rayz took a dump in ya shrimp
j.u.i.c.e.: j.u. ill state. the city is mine
breez evahflowin’: breez evahflow-er, strong hold number four
[verse 1: c-rayz walz]
exhibit a: party people in the place to be/b
exist in the next level with me (where?) in the place to see/c
basically, i bash a beast with his own billy club
boisterously battle bullets and bust slugs (on point)
porcupine hugs bug meridians
bee hives bumble, boasting who’s buzz is the busiest?
(y’all want it raw, dawg?) we’ll give it to you skinned alive
stabbing your license, trying to k!ll your drive
(rayz will shine) and juice will never evaporate
only distract mcs who are not from concentrate
at a rapid rate, decapitate and penetrate
excited fans in the stands wave hands and hyperventilate
now it’s too late to kick that rhyme you borrowed
and i know why y’all can’t spit—you already swallowed
i battle and release my inner stress and i ain’t finished yet
till your girl tosses my salad with balsamic vinaigrette
[hook: breez evahflowin’, c-rayz walz, and j.u.i.c.e.]
who’s f-cking with this?
no one, nowhere, nothing, never
only option you got to quit
who’s f-cking with this?
up in your b-tch, got her sucking a d-ck
touching her t-ts, got style like a bucket of cris’
who’s f-cking with this?
snuffing your hits, crushing your chips
leave you stuck in a desert with a bucket of p-ss
who’s f-cking with this?
from the rifle or clip
spit sixteen quick that’ll stifle your sh-t
[verse 2: breez evahflowin’]
yo, your rhymes i’m not feeling
f-ck y’all fruits—i start peeling
p-ss jumping on the d-ck—y’all f-ggots is cartwheeling
street dreams, xxl tales from h-ll
we dwell within the trenches. still, we prevail
these n-ggas stale like buzzard food
shine for a time while we work the grind like “who the f-ck are you?”
ask somebody, put up your salary
you probably got a neighbor somewhere who wanna battle me
brother, next of kin
black, white, mexican
i’m right here—let’s begin
once again, breez through the city of winds
you know, out for a piece of the pie like shy uno
mind defy. who knows?
what lines are thought
can score from half court in the rhyming sport
leave fans wide-eyed like elijah wood
underground like sh-t that’s denied in the hood
[hook: breez evahflowin’, c-rayz walz, and j.u.i.c.e.]
who’s f-cking with this?
f-cking with me, juice’ll leave these n-ggas up in a tree
death costs—ain’t nothing for free
who’s f-cking with this?
you ain’t fully equipped
you a let down like a b-tch with -ss and no t-ts
who’s f-cking with this?
shuffling your lips like you smuggling bricks
you a b-tch, resort to cutting your wrists
who’s f-cking with this?
f-cking with me, i’ll do a whole record company, g
i swear to god this is something to see
[verse 3: j.u.i.c.e.]
big juice, mid-west, got you buzzing to this
compet-tion can’t test ’cause it doesn’t exist (no)
aye, and don’t get me started ’cause i’m loving to diss
sober flow on some overthrow the government sh-t
you sell an extra 50 thou’ when i jump on a disc
okay, 25—i may be bluffing a bit
f-cking with this, smoking weed, tucking a clip
terry bug, carrie shrugs. say something, i flip
still blazing trees when i’m up in a six
sick, c-rayz and breez—who f-cking with this? (n0body)
sh-t, i get around like ya comp-sses get
and when i spit around my circ-mference is sick
and i ain’t finna give these f-cking record companies sh-t
already k!lled my a & r and left him slumped in his whip
so hot, the needles can’t do nothing but skip
i’m juice—now what the f-ck is n-ggas functioning with?
[hook: breez evahflowin’, c-rayz walz, and j.u.i.c.e.]
who’s f-cking with this?
you ain’t repping your clique—you’re reflecting the cl-t
but we the question you be asking your b-tch:
who’s f-cking with this?
nicer than n-ggas i can force ya to name
it cost you your chains
i did this mother off of the brain
who’s f-cking with this?
make way when we fitting to spit
you acting top? then prepare to get kicked from the tip
who’s f-cking with this?
put five in my grip, spitting lead—tell me who wanna sin
crash your six ’cause we bubbling sick
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