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The Alchemist - Young Money Property Lyrics

[Verse 1: Curren$y]
Curren$y the hot spitter
Fast life, slow slow
Lost a couple, that ain't shit, I got more
Bank so easy, niggas you know me
Bitches talk sideways get smacked the fuck up
I'm a pimp, but I don't move with a pimp cup
I'd rather keep my drinks in a thermos
Told yall before I was an advanced learner
Cops tryna send me off to camp like Ernest
Yeah, but I ain't going for that walk
Fuck around with me and I just let that gat talk
Yeah, I'mma let that heat spray
Right where you standing that's where you gone lay
Still play it cool, get off the streets
Cops came to the house, moms told them I was sleep
Cause she memorized the script to a tee
Told them that I had the flu and I was in the bed for weeks
Yeah, another victim of a murderer
Got your family running asking people have they heard of ya
All over, putting up posters
Like you got an album about to drop
But there ain't nothing bout to drop but that casket
Label me a bastard even though I know my pops, yeah
Rap game said I fell off the scene
Though I'm coming back like I forgot my keys, yeah
[Verse 2: Boo]
It's a shame how I gotta duck shots
From these hating ass niggas and these crooked ass cops
Fuck it, it just make me grind harder
Now I'm signed to young Carter
P89 be the answers to the my problem
Benchwarmers getting mad, I'm a starter
Number 1 draft pick, laughing in a black 6
Talk big shit and still turn bricks like back flips
Young Money be the circle that I ride fo'
Nigga we live to stay fly on you ass holes
It ain't a doubt, I'mma rep that Chicago
But I got so much love for the south
Where the women be most thick and give great mouth
And love all the shit that a thug be 'bout
Now let these things ling out
YM bitch, now it's time to bang out

[Verse 3: Mack Maine]
Gorilla with the flow, nigga finna blow
Ice everywhere, chinchilla to the flo'
Escalade trucks with the chromed out buggy
Type of shit I got since the nigga got paid
Nigga gained a little weight but the hoes still love me
Still let a nigga put the dick to they face
Run up in your crib, put the burner to your face
Leave the scene with out a trace at a Earnhardt pace
But no I ain't Dale, I ain't tryna hit the wall
Tryna mack a little broad and get her back to the place
Yo man trip, I show 'em what the Ruger hold
Catch a flight to Jayville, can't miss the Super Bowl
Then it's back to the hood cause I love the streets
Better find Noah's Ark, bout to flood the streets
Young Money, that's the clan
Young Maine, I'm the man
Getting money is the plan
The Rugers don't jam
[Verse 4: Lil Wayne]
Weezy F. kinda nice with the Glock
But I'm better than that with the rock
Tryna land me a spot at the Roc
And my city got word of that
Niggas want me to hook them up with Fox
I done got young Mal off the block
Now the haters don't know where he at
Tryna do the same thing for Cap-
That's my young brother, he got shop
If a nigga try to jack
Then we coming back like Hip-Hop
Got the bullets coming out the pump
Running through your stomach back like a Running Back
I ain't got the Emmitt Smith bitch I got the Dorset
AR-33 shooting like a Cowboy
Tryna see red skin, bitch I'm fly, I'm sky born
Young Ozzy Osbourne floating like the cloud boy
Got them bitches pilled up, blowing like a plow truck
With they fucking mouths up, south up!