| [Verse 1: Rokamouth] | |
| Yo the first born son was a burnt lit star | |
| Certain sounds could just touch my heart | |
| Working hard, and my team still starve | |
| Outchea, for us they pulling new cars on these old rap farts] | |
| Top the fools, i'm off these charts | |
| I said, "Switching pronto, no need to front ho | |
| They looking at him like that's my uncle" | |
| Now it's a shame that I got to hunt you | |
| Banging on my homie, you won't need Russell | |
| Young nigga, Running up, snatch and hustle | |
| It's a BK [?], bouta strap the muscle | |
| If your raps are wack and you lack the bundle | |
| Cause I do it all, young enough to live and see old kings fall | |
| Old enough to keep my force still strong | |
| Throwing the track like a cannon ball | |
| Through your walls, you're gonna hear my call | |
| Certified til I die I'm Raw | |
| If I hit the stu, and come back with mo' | |
| I put it in the stores', Platinum fo' sho' | |
| Won't spend it all on dough like I've done before | |
| If a trap star could, let a trap star grow | |
| I'll flip my dough because that's all I know | |
| 24/7 and never ends all ho | |
| .44 let my lungs feel smoke | |
| And I've kept it trill cause that's all we know | |
| That's 47 [?], made that track with smoke | |
| [?] on my throats, Shooting shows on tours | |
| Leave it to my pros and my young bro Joe | |
| Cause it’s not his fault, they putting styles on halt | |
| And my other side glides each line I float | |
| See my mind in my rhymes on boss | |
| Rap rebels of a walking line | |
| They marching even on the front line | |
| When the time comes | |
| Roka keep it loaded if know you better wanna run | |
| [?] Hanging off the tongue, stay spitting hot bullets | |
| Now my whole verse done | |
| Come, Come | |
| [Hook: Dirty Sanchez] | |
| Come, Come Now | |
| Who's number one now? | |
| Thought it was a joke | |
| [4x] | 'Til the numbers starting showing up |
| [Verse 2: Dirty Sanchez] | |
| Dirty want his money right now | |
| And his credit | |
| I deserve my respect for this shit that I imbedded | |
| I am better than them niggas who pretended that they them niggas | |
| Who be lying to them niggas who be buying they shit so | |
| Fuck the government word to my brother man | |
| From the 5th Flo' | |
| Won't get fed if your mouth is closed | |
| That's something he told me | |
| The 47 Og's running it low key | |
| I'm still Dirty and I'm still 7:30 | |
| My vision is still blurry so picture perfect ain't really certain | |
| Blind bitch baby, does the cover match them curtains? | |
| Still couldn't block my shine | |
| Chakras divrine like 33rd degree | |
| Fresh 47 embroidery | |
| Pro Era property, no loitering | |
| Can't say my whole team eating yet | |
| But I'm cooking up a mess | |
| Where syringes were pressed: dirty kitchen | |
| I'm spillin' all my kids on her dress, Started living what I'm thinking | |
| Decider, we next stop | |
| Stop and then frisk | |
| Slaughtering pigs anybody can get it | |
| Shooting stars, now make a wish | |
| Rocking skins like the skins we rocking | |
| Powerpuff smoking on that blossom | |
| We're running the game and this shit is exhausting | |
| But I don't give a fuck cause this shit is awesome | |
| 4-7 | |
| [Hook] | |
| [Verse 3: Jakk The Rhymer] | |
| I'm from the Era, where we never show weak niggas love | |
| They phonies, me and the homies holding it up | |
| My only place first shorty never lost | |
| Off the bus in New York, trying to record | |
| Man, you're favorite rapper down the side | |
| Recognize, they don't play with eyes | |
| They an optical allusion like Optimus Prime | |
| Break a rhyme down in the summertime | |
| If I don't separate you and me | |
| I'm acknowledging your truancy | |
| Move like rocket ships, who are we? | |
| Move and sing, Word to my higher Buddha | |
| Seeing through the eyes of Judah | |
| I annihilate a loser | |
| The crown jeweler, Boundary of a Goddess | |
| Not a façade, the Brooklyn niggas is on | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it's the Progress | |
| Start spreading love, Gospel | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it's the Progress | |
| Start spreading love |
| Verse 1: Rokamouth | |
| Yo the first born son was a burnt lit star | |
| Certain sounds could just touch my heart | |
| Working hard, and my team still starve | |
| Outchea, for us they pulling new cars on these old rap farts | |
| Top the fools, i' m off these charts | |
| I said, " Switching pronto, no need to front ho | |
| They looking at him like that' s my uncle" | |
| Now it' s a shame that I got to hunt you | |
| Banging on my homie, you won' t need Russell | |
| Young nigga, Running up, snatch and hustle | |
| It' s a BK ?, bouta strap the muscle | |
| If your raps are wack and you lack the bundle | |
| Cause I do it all, young enough to live and see old kings fall | |
| Old enough to keep my force still strong | |
| Throwing the track like a cannon ball | |
| Through your walls, you' re gonna hear my call | |
| Certified til I die I' m Raw | |
| If I hit the stu, and come back with mo' | |
| I put it in the stores', Platinum fo' sho' | |
| Won' t spend it all on dough like I' ve done before | |
| If a trap star could, let a trap star grow | |
| I' ll flip my dough because that' s all I know | |
| 24 7 and never ends all ho | |
| . 44 let my lungs feel smoke | |
| And I' ve kept it trill cause that' s all we know | |
| That' s 47 ?, made that track with smoke | |
| ? on my throats, Shooting shows on tours | |
| Leave it to my pros and my young bro Joe | |
| Cause it' s not his fault, they putting styles on halt | |
| And my other side glides each line I float | |
| See my mind in my rhymes on boss | |
| Rap rebels of a walking line | |
| They marching even on the front line | |
| When the time comes | |
| Roka keep it loaded if know you better wanna run | |
| ? Hanging off the tongue, stay spitting hot bullets | |
| Now my whole verse done | |
| Come, Come | |
| Hook: Dirty Sanchez | |
| Come, Come Now | |
| Who' s number one now? | |
| Thought it was a joke | |
| [4x] | ' Til the numbers starting showing up |
| Verse 2: Dirty Sanchez | |
| Dirty want his money right now | |
| And his credit | |
| I deserve my respect for this shit that I imbedded | |
| I am better than them niggas who pretended that they them niggas | |
| Who be lying to them niggas who be buying they shit so | |
| Fuck the government word to my brother man | |
| From the 5th Flo' | |
| Won' t get fed if your mouth is closed | |
| That' s something he told me | |
| The 47 Og' s running it low key | |
| I' m still Dirty and I' m still 7: 30 | |
| My vision is still blurry so picture perfect ain' t really certain | |
| Blind bitch baby, does the cover match them curtains? | |
| Still couldn' t block my shine | |
| Chakras divrine like 33rd degree | |
| Fresh 47 embroidery | |
| Pro Era property, no loitering | |
| Can' t say my whole team eating yet | |
| But I' m cooking up a mess | |
| Where syringes were pressed: dirty kitchen | |
| I' m spillin' all my kids on her dress, Started living what I' m thinking | |
| Decider, we next stop | |
| Stop and then frisk | |
| Slaughtering pigs anybody can get it | |
| Shooting stars, now make a wish | |
| Rocking skins like the skins we rocking | |
| Powerpuff smoking on that blossom | |
| We' re running the game and this shit is exhausting | |
| But I don' t give a fuck cause this shit is awesome | |
| 47 | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 3: Jakk The Rhymer | |
| I' m from the Era, where we never show weak niggas love | |
| They phonies, me and the homies holding it up | |
| My only place first shorty never lost | |
| Off the bus in New York, trying to record | |
| Man, you' re favorite rapper down the side | |
| Recognize, they don' t play with eyes | |
| They an optical allusion like Optimus Prime | |
| Break a rhyme down in the summertime | |
| If I don' t separate you and me | |
| I' m acknowledging your truancy | |
| Move like rocket ships, who are we? | |
| Move and sing, Word to my higher Buddha | |
| Seeing through the eyes of Judah | |
| I annihilate a loser | |
| The crown jeweler, Boundary of a Goddess | |
| Not a fa ade, the Brooklyn niggas is on | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it' s the Progress | |
| Start spreading love, Gospel | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it' s the Progress | |
| Start spreading love |
| Verse 1: Rokamouth | |
| Yo the first born son was a burnt lit star | |
| Certain sounds could just touch my heart | |
| Working hard, and my team still starve | |
| Outchea, for us they pulling new cars on these old rap farts | |
| Top the fools, i' m off these charts | |
| I said, " Switching pronto, no need to front ho | |
| They looking at him like that' s my uncle" | |
| Now it' s a shame that I got to hunt you | |
| Banging on my homie, you won' t need Russell | |
| Young nigga, Running up, snatch and hustle | |
| It' s a BK ?, bouta strap the muscle | |
| If your raps are wack and you lack the bundle | |
| Cause I do it all, young enough to live and see old kings fall | |
| Old enough to keep my force still strong | |
| Throwing the track like a cannon ball | |
| Through your walls, you' re gonna hear my call | |
| Certified til I die I' m Raw | |
| If I hit the stu, and come back with mo' | |
| I put it in the stores', Platinum fo' sho' | |
| Won' t spend it all on dough like I' ve done before | |
| If a trap star could, let a trap star grow | |
| I' ll flip my dough because that' s all I know | |
| 24 7 and never ends all ho | |
| . 44 let my lungs feel smoke | |
| And I' ve kept it trill cause that' s all we know | |
| That' s 47 ?, made that track with smoke | |
| ? on my throats, Shooting shows on tours | |
| Leave it to my pros and my young bro Joe | |
| Cause it' s not his fault, they putting styles on halt | |
| And my other side glides each line I float | |
| See my mind in my rhymes on boss | |
| Rap rebels of a walking line | |
| They marching even on the front line | |
| When the time comes | |
| Roka keep it loaded if know you better wanna run | |
| ? Hanging off the tongue, stay spitting hot bullets | |
| Now my whole verse done | |
| Come, Come | |
| Hook: Dirty Sanchez | |
| Come, Come Now | |
| Who' s number one now? | |
| Thought it was a joke | |
| [4x] | ' Til the numbers starting showing up |
| Verse 2: Dirty Sanchez | |
| Dirty want his money right now | |
| And his credit | |
| I deserve my respect for this shit that I imbedded | |
| I am better than them niggas who pretended that they them niggas | |
| Who be lying to them niggas who be buying they shit so | |
| Fuck the government word to my brother man | |
| From the 5th Flo' | |
| Won' t get fed if your mouth is closed | |
| That' s something he told me | |
| The 47 Og' s running it low key | |
| I' m still Dirty and I' m still 7: 30 | |
| My vision is still blurry so picture perfect ain' t really certain | |
| Blind bitch baby, does the cover match them curtains? | |
| Still couldn' t block my shine | |
| Chakras divrine like 33rd degree | |
| Fresh 47 embroidery | |
| Pro Era property, no loitering | |
| Can' t say my whole team eating yet | |
| But I' m cooking up a mess | |
| Where syringes were pressed: dirty kitchen | |
| I' m spillin' all my kids on her dress, Started living what I' m thinking | |
| Decider, we next stop | |
| Stop and then frisk | |
| Slaughtering pigs anybody can get it | |
| Shooting stars, now make a wish | |
| Rocking skins like the skins we rocking | |
| Powerpuff smoking on that blossom | |
| We' re running the game and this shit is exhausting | |
| But I don' t give a fuck cause this shit is awesome | |
| 47 | |
| Hook | |
| Verse 3: Jakk The Rhymer | |
| I' m from the Era, where we never show weak niggas love | |
| They phonies, me and the homies holding it up | |
| My only place first shorty never lost | |
| Off the bus in New York, trying to record | |
| Man, you' re favorite rapper down the side | |
| Recognize, they don' t play with eyes | |
| They an optical allusion like Optimus Prime | |
| Break a rhyme down in the summertime | |
| If I don' t separate you and me | |
| I' m acknowledging your truancy | |
| Move like rocket ships, who are we? | |
| Move and sing, Word to my higher Buddha | |
| Seeing through the eyes of Judah | |
| I annihilate a loser | |
| The crown jeweler, Boundary of a Goddess | |
| Not a fa ade, the Brooklyn niggas is on | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it' s the Progress | |
| Start spreading love, Gospel | |
| Demanding in large, we the men in charge | |
| No progress, it' s the Progress | |
| Start spreading love |
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