French Montana - Ain’t Worried About Nothin Remix Lyrics (Ft. Game, Problem, Dizzy Wright & Crooked I)

French Montana - Ain’t Worried About Nothin Remix Lyrics (Ft. Game, Problem, Dizzy Wright & Crooked I):

[Hook]
…ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Skee ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
DJ Skee ain’t worried ’bout nothin’

[Verse 1: Problem]
Ridin’ round with that work…
Was not for them people…
And them hoe niggas lookin’ thirsty
Please get them Aquafina
Money come faster than Cheetahs
All hoes miss this king like Cleveland
I ride through the hood, sucka niggas be hatin’
Say they sure gon’ get at me, I’ve been anxiously waiting
Sippin’ Pina Coladas, smokin’ flowers with Asian bitches
Can’t worry ’bout nothin’
Nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Nigga wanna fight, we can jungle
Reebok pumps, lumps in a young punk, you feel?
No uncle…

[Hook: French Montana]

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
I’m in the strip club, Secret Sunday
Nigga got a 50-band necklace on
I’m by myself, I’m turning up
Haters out here better respect the throne
Let’s see your beard ’til the bury a nigga
Slipped two times, what up Macabre?
This street money, I ain’t worried, nigga
I don’t work, but see I love my job (nigga, word)
See me rollin’ down the block while I’m rolling up a knot
And I’m goin’ to the spot, bad shorty on my jock
Opened up her box on the coconut Ciroc
This Eastside, LB city, boy
Rock two chains like Tity Boi
Crooked I live like a model with ass
That mean a nigga sit pretty, boy

[Hook: French Montana]

[Verse 3: Dizzy Wright]
Eastside, Las Vegas
Young player comin’ out of nowhere
Now I’m rappin’ with the big shines
Like “whoa there, little nigga, don’t go there”
So rare and prepared for the lifestyle
Spit it how I live it when the mic’s out
Got a house, wife and a night gown
Before rap, the one that would let me put the pipe down
Comin’ from the city of the Fight Night
Bringing entertainment to the limelight
All this city really needed was an artist
And guess who the artist? I guess I got the green light
Skee life, what it be like?
Dizzy Wright be like “what the tree like?”
Kushed out in the function…
Can’t kill my vibe, fuck nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’

[Hook: French Montana]

[Verse 4: Game]
Got a million on my neck…
Little fuck nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout much
Y’all worried ’bout us?
Sixteen out the clip ’til his watermelon bust
Got a bitch ridin’ shotgun
With a .45 and a Louis Vuitton clutch
Where I been? In the cut
Now I’m back, it’s a wrap, whole world on my nuts
And your girl on my nuts
Consequences when these nigga be cuffin’
I’mma hit her up, then I’m pullin’ out
Nigga, I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
I ain’t worried ’bout nothin’
Red Styrofoam cup, sippin’ on the gas
I can slow it down like French
Or I can go Twista on that ass
My niggas turn it up, never turn down
While I’m sippin’ the Dom
My niggas gettin’ it on
We’ve got your bitch in a thong
Flipping her thong, one sip and she’s gone
We’ll turn it on
Give her the long bone and then she go home
Make a nigga pull a grip out the cut
I’ll call a bitch I can fuck
Have her howling at the moonlight
AK47 in your bitch
Put the pussy on Instagram and show you what the goon like
These LA hoes don’t like me ’cause I fucked ‘em all
I wear Louis, I wear Gucci, nigga, fuck the mall
Niggas killed the club… so they killed…
I’m ’bout to kill me a nigga… and beat the charge

[Hook: French Montana]

[Bridge: French Montana]
Ridin’ round with that work
Strapped up with that Nina (got to)
Bad bitches with me, molly and Aquafina
Money don’t mean nothing,
Niggas don’t feel you when they see you
My whole ‘hood love me
But now a nigga wanna touch me

[Hook: French Montana]

Crooked I - Dancin’ On Your Grave Ft. Brevi Lyrics

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Slaughterhouse - She Will Freestyle Lyrics

Slaughterhouse - She Will Freestyle Lyrics:

[Joe Budden]
It go,
I told her, now go and pop that pussy for a real nigga
Fattest ass texting me all day but I still ig’ her
Don’t do the small talk
Wrong guy to deal with
She ask me for a vacay
All she get is a guilt trip
Niggas is talking to the feds now bugging out
Even got cassettes in they chest, Teddy Ruxpin style
Bitches is wylin’, they treatin me like they husband now
Do I got this white girl up stairs like this the drumming house

[Joel Ortiz]
Now go and pop that pussy for another real nigga
House gang bang bang, no Deringer
Long rifle big boobs, drip ooh shout when I come around the corner
Like a Vic’ Cruz route
Suck it with your boobs out
You fucking skank
Deep throat, please choke yeah gag like like a fucking prank
You know us Rican’s be freaking
So though we got dinner reservations later this evening I’m eating

[Chorus - Joe Budden and Joell Ortiz]
She just started to pop it for a nigga and then look back and told me baby it’s real
And I said bitch you crazy if you think I believe you but I’ma still get a feel
She said her head ground breaking so it’s only right I show her the drill
She cute so maybe she won’t, yeah aight nigga, trust me she will
Yeah
Do it for the hardest nigga spittin in the game right now, she will, yeah
Do it for the hardest nigga spittin in the game right now, she will, she will
If I can drop her off and she ain’t gotta take the train right now she will
Do it for the hardest nigga spittin in the game right now, she will, she will

[Verse 3: Joell Ortiz]
I mean..
Why the fuck would she not, she’ll play my side just to be hot
Hop in my ride, crushing these blocks, swallow her pride
Fuck them reeboks, red bottoms glide, girl get on top and
Leave those on and go with your squat, let’s make this porn
See the red dot? The camera’s on
Here’s your big shot
They say you shy, I know you’re not
Now prove ‘em wrong
Make it

[Verse 4: Joe Budden]
He can’t go the places I go
He ain’t been the places I’ve been
He can’t fuck the hoes that I’ve fucked
He don’t spend they way that I spend
Wait she hold that pussy hostage like a pimp is nearby
With me she always wanna lay up like a rim is nearby

[Verse 5: Royce Da 5'9"]
Hop up on that pole and wind
Overtime, take off your clothes and grind
She know she fine, she low-key no she mind
Look at the neck and the hoe get blind
Fuck your man, got a loaded nine
When I’m bowling for colombine
Put a bullet in his head, leave him with an open mind
And I poke his dime

(Crooked I!)

[Verse 6: Crooked I]
In the pussy, I go for delph
Why you think they call it box
Gotta hit baby below the belt
Whether coka or moka after I stroke a
I never broke myself
We into march, but may 15th, we be on your shelf!
Welcome to our House nigga (House nigga)
No Clarence Thomas
Running your lane, we sonning the game
So pay your parents homage
Each one of my gang is one of the same, I’m being very honest
Plus that paint so black on a Bentley coup I’m feeling Farrakhan-ish
I promise, so many tattas got my name on it
These strippers, they bring the parade on stage and I rain on it
Real nigga!
Man I’m getting this money don’t ask how
You get cheese cause of derrière is a cash cow

[Chorus]

Slaughterhouse - Hammer Dance Lyrics

Slaughterhouse - Hammer Dance Lyrics:

[Verse 1: Joell Ortiz]
My real name, my rap shit
No made up nigga, I’m straight up, nigga
Still in the projects where I came up, nigga
On a scaffold doing ten sets of ten, getting my weight up, nigga
I’m no shooter, but my shooters’ll have your brain exposed
But I’ll shoot five in a second, homie, and break your nose
Talking past, I’m dead ass, I was living
Life fast with my pistol in the grass
Digging in my ass tryna finish up the last
So I can sit it in a stash
Old E. sweat dripping from the bag
Milk crates sitting on the ave
While I’m looking left and right for the niggas with the badge
My mom’s dishes really had crack on ‘em
12 12s and I kept that shit packed for ‘em, yeah they came back for ‘em
I can paint it so vivid cause I really lived it
If rap fail, I stack bail, and show you how to get it!

[Hook: Royce da 5'9"]
I’m in the club, bottle in my hand doing my two step
While I got my gun in my pants, call it the hammer dance
Bitches dancing on a nigga when they feel the gun
I tell ‘em we’re doing the hammer dance
Two steppin’ with my weapon on me
You good? I’m just checking, homie
Fam-a-lam, you don’t stand a chance
While I got this gun in my pants doing my hammer dance

[Verse 2: Crooked I]
In these LA times, I wake up on one
House slippers and coffee, I know the paper gon’ come
I drop shit that make the gangstas go dumb
Keep a bad bitch naked like my waist with no gun
I’m for real, how are you?
Got street power, from the Watts Towers to Howard U
How would you become me? I don’t do what you cowards do
Flip a thousand pounds of that sour dies’ in a hour, dude
I’m out my muh’fuckin’ mind
Fuck a punchline, salute my muh’fuckin’ grind
Ditching feds on the regular, they’re trying to catch a predator
Not the Chris Hansen type, but the Danny Glover kind
I’m a killer, everybody know I body your audio
When a shotty blow, say goodbye to your barrio, you maricon
You don’t think that I’m about this
Ice grill, nigga, put your money where your mouth is

[Hook]

[Verse 3: Joe Budden]
My real name, my rap shit
Fuck with Chase, but the real bank is the mattress
Money ain’t new to me, been getting G-stacks
Since Smoove B took his shawty back from rehab
Knife work with me, but the chrome is extra
Case I’m in the same taxi as the bone collector
Y’all rappin’ ’bout models, I get hounded by ‘em
Not a killer at all, I’m just surrounded by ‘em
Just a real nigga, straight from my mother’s stomach
Ain’t enough cloth for all of us to be cut from it
Not decided by who toast led
Cause all of us would be angels for Pujols’ bread
Lot of hostility, hollering is killing me
Screaming “Over my dead body,” like it’s not a possibility
On my Jers’ bullshit, never mind me
But if it’s ever problems, niggas know where to find me

[Hook]

Crooked I - C.O.B. Motto (The Motto Remix) Lyrics

Crooked I - C.O.B. Motto (The Motto Remix) Lyrics:

[Hook]
Sut-sut is the motto
Spark up some loud, man, crack another bottle
COB deep in the streets like a pothole
You know who to follow
Crooked Intriago

[Verse 1]
You are now tuned in, the lens zoomed in
The cameras recording, my Concord Jordans
Move from the shoes to the Trues to the Gucci belt
COB shirt, then it move to the dude who the face of the West Coast
Let’s go get ‘em
Fresh flow kill ‘em
Less momentum for y’all
Beats, I vandalize them all
Should start writing rhymes with a Sharpie on your wall
Wanna ball how I ball?
Gotta trip Pau Gasol, that’s all
That means I’mma ball til I fall
Niggas mad they ain’t in my tax bracket
I take the high road, it lacks traffic
Gat pack is my bad habit
Still I jump in the cypher and backpack it, I’m that active
Versatility’s the verse abilities
Get money but learn humility, you feeling me? Church
I willingly work
You Little League niggas don’t know about them skirts
Who be feeling that purple pill in me
Head under her dress, fuck it, I’m wilding
Same reason that Mona Lisa was smiling
Top floor of the Ritz
I’m looking down at the roof of the Staples
Divide the truth from the fables, maybe
I’m signed to lucrative label
You become one of my stallions, your future is stable
I went from the train to the Bentley with the bucket seats
For fucking up rugged beats
Thugging in public streets
Love it when suckers speak
On the House Gang, you’ll be done in a couple weeks
Soon as the single drop
Go get the Beats by Dre speakerbox while we shine like the equinox
You need to not think we going soft, either
Keep a Glock, squeeze at you while your people watch
Told you it get greater later
Don’t be a David Stern — I mean a player hater
Wait up — let’s toast 2012
A shot of Ciroc for my people in the prison cell
Let’s toast 2012
A shot of Ciroc for my people in the prison cell, yeah
Free Tray Deee

[Hook]

Crooked I - No Competition Lyrics

Crooked I - No Competition Lyrics:

Ok, I’m bottle popping, I’m … 
I make Colorado rocking, deep in that 303
I got a model jocking, she say her man’s a physician
I tell her mommy stop it, restrain your competition

Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone
Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone

Where my haters at, where my haters at?
Said I was dead when I left there …
Hell no nigger, I made it back
Now you niggers gotta fade to black
So damn hungry, I ate the mat
I’m the beast, the west coast, in the belly of industry club
And I’m raining stacks
Name another artist who harder than me, 
Who’s smarter than me, I’m smart as a Harvard degree
In the dark, I’m a … with the beat, don’t argue with me
These artists are weak, I’m arguably
The best with these bars, 
So they start talk about…
I made a small fortune without drawing…
Just made it…middle man
… now I’m fucking with a million
I ain’t even have to touch one kilogram
I remember when you rappers… home boy that’s your marketing plan
… ain’t nothing wrong with catching a ride
But some wrong with niggers that I catch in a lie
Back to the flow, passing you hoes
… passion and flow, throw cash on the floor
…going back to the mall

Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone
Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone

Where my haters at, where my haters at?
Where my raiders at? Where my chuck taylor’s at
… spit neck gasoline, no Vaseline
Naming on the dude of this grind, working like a half machine
Go ask your team
Music is loosing its mind, 
Shit is like a travesty, is so whack to me
I could put a hundred dudes in a lot
And they all practically sound the god damn same
…we the best in the biz
You ain’t gotta give me the crown cause I took it in the past 10 years
When it come to this lyrical spit, tell me who fucking around with young Crooked
The answer is none rappers… I’m popping like Pac the 90’s, niggers get hit up
Finishing a nigger, that thing he gonna run up on a general criminal
I’m general principle, I’ma give him a bullet, the momentum is gonna spin him around
And I’ma give him another round, get rid of him
Ladies and gentlemen I am the future, the whole wide world is cob
You’re on your grind, then I salute you, sooner or later you gonna see
What’s our only mission, knock you out the number one position
Our position, I got 99 problems, one ain’t competition though

Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone
Ain’t no competition, ain’t no competition, 
Ain’t no competition, bitch ain’t no competition
My city, behind me, your bitch, beside me
You haters, come find me, 
And on this microphone.

Royce Da 5'9, Crooked I & Deph Naught - Lemme Go Ft Zawles Lyrics

Royce Da 5'9, Crooked I & Deph Naught - Lemme Go Ft Zawles Lyrics:

[verse 1: royce da 5'9"]
nickel nine who rap live’r, never that
riding, with a bitch and my battery in the back
and for that, she asked “why?” and
her tops getting pulled over modem to black drivers
while i shine, chrome , and i wax tire’s
picture that!
the car fast it’s cleaner than mother mary
it’s heating your whole class like culinary
pick up your jaw from the floor i’m another scary
cuz’ i do more than just oven carry
i make your ass look like you’ve been bobbing for apples in a tub of berries
ain’t no motherfucking hoes here
except the ones y’all be paying like a toll fare
my style’s like a watched project:
you heard about it, you read about it but you don’t wanna’ just go there
yeah, i’m on some different shit when i press this pencil against this paper
i guess it’s just my wicked nickel nature

[hook: zawles]
well i’ve been dying to get my voice heard up
on these streets, give me some shine and i’m starring the show
and i’ve been blind to all the hate, haters try to show me
i’m deph to the naughts, ain’t hearing no

step back and let me go, go
go let me go, go, (x8)
go let me

[verse 2: ]
i’m an original criminal in my lyrical pinnacle
show me an identical rapper i scalp ‘em as quick as a
seminal indian, give me an obvious reason
to body a heathen, to shotty a squeezing, i’m out of your league
out of your region. out of your reach, pushing x
like i’m from bmx, i’m malcolm and meech
how do you speak to an animal? beast, i only cypher with producers
i battle these beats, the cannibal eats
whatever’s trynna’ cypff with me
til’ i’m on top of the game, right where that snipers be
i gotta license to kill, so if you see me shoot
jordan and tyson chill, i’m only murdering every mic i see
i’m the realest, rich as willis, i could beat a drum and
nobody rides for free, so i keep the meter runnin’
nine loaded (yes), c.o.b. is gunnin’
blindfolded (sex), they never seen us cummin’

[hook]

[verse 3: deph naught]
i thought i told ya’, ball with him all you get crossed over
thought he was hot? (fuck ‘em!) the sodomy starts over
when nickel and naught gots to recording these harsh vocals
rolled through the park, and got on a crooked i’s shoulders
motion the ten broads thats over there on over
slit all they throats, throw em, and chuckle with ron goldman
oh he’s a twat. what a ridiculous thought process
wanna’ be me? swallow some bleach and cream soda!!
lawdy! i’m the shit and i ain’t tryning to explain it
a homicidal violent child dying to escape and
i’m saying you couldn’t make him be quiet if you was placin’
his brain in a vase made of uranium to contain it
the zaniest (sweet goodness!), flyin’ down isle three
with a bottle of lube, cialis and mild sauce. please
come lick on the dick (slurp), you rappers should try and not speak
i lit a cigarette, it means goodbye bitch, peace. (fuck outta’ here!)
i’m here now (cheese!), a picture’d be great
this game is a bitch and i’m a trick that’s insisting we date
labels and a&rs, for some reason they looking at me funny
(why?) “degrassi?, eighteen??, white!?? mmm, money!!!”
(mister deph!) dammit, you better off tryna’ take hellen keller
down to your cellar and start yelling her name -
i don’t hear your haters hatin’. zawles come out and say it
drake, i’m ’bout to make it, make way for the next generation (ra!)

[hook]