Letra Sean Price - Sean Price
Ayo, I ain't a mad rapper
I ain't no back packer
I'm just a cat who will smack black off of wack rappers
Nigga acting like they really gon' get me
But the motherfuck*** is faker than silicon titties
P!
R. to the I.C.E
See you niggas in Hell with a glass of ice for my tea
That's just the way that I be
Like a bitch you like it rough so I'm trying to f*** Laila Ali
Trying to make dumb dollars like Diddy and Dash
Make you motherfucks hollar while you give me some cash
Bitches hear the brokest rapper you know
And they still be like, "Ruck what the f*** you doing after the show?"
I'm like, "Chill with my wife, chill with my son
Before I, kill with my knife, I'm ill with my gun."
Yo six million ways to die, choose gun
Ask Sean Price, that's like six million and one
Yo, yo, yo, yo
Yo
Here I come
The wicked one like Mum Ra
Yeah run!
This the one they warn you about
That's son and 'em
Niggas from the Brook-nam government
The Flood and shit
Niggas said "He prolly got a gun on him"
My origin
Deep like a fuc*** arcade
And these niggas weak, yeah butter Parkay
I'm out in these streets selling pellets of cocaine
I nearly got knocked, I'm like "Fuck it" the whole thang
Whole thing?
My hustle ring is like phone book
Plus my pinky ring is just so hook
Ask them niggas how I got you shook
Try to front, that's the best you do
That's the same way he left his hood
Now he dead looking not so good