Record Deal

[Intro: Lon Dini]
Yeah... Still here, boy (we here)
Millimen, Lon Dini, Liberachi
L.G., L.I., Baby Pa
S.T., inside a hole you still here, nigga
Yeah... let's do it... rock!
Rock's good, nigga, fuck off!
Yeah... Huh? Huh? Huh?
[Lon Dini:]
Yo you know who 'bout to go in again (yeah Dini)
I kick down ya door, big guns glued ya ass then
Yo the judge tryin' to kill my summer fun (Mayer's)
Yeah his ass still run in the streets boy, get my summer ones
Bitches love me like a fresh pair, poetry spit clear
Never seen me before but coward, I been here
Fuck ridin' the beat, boy I hover
The way my mind travel I could probably cover 3/4ths ya sucker
In a day, put all rappers on, I sautee
You could never sound like this, even if you copied
Fuck around, go down, slit the chin of four chopper (Mayday, mayday!)
Hotter than four skillets on the stove
I remain calm, reveal big toast and stay in close
Ain't no gang when I write it, incite cause L.I. holds (what up nigga?)
Dollars, Dodge black Impalas
Dart killa, I make clowns disappear for the skrilla
Skanks I fuck 'em, guns I buck 'em
You could look through the hip-hop list, nobody that could touch him
[Fes Taylor:]
Our pain is real, walk the block with the stainless steel
I ain't never had a deal but I'm famous still (uh-huh)
No budget but my chain is I'll
Jesus piece came from crills, ask 'bout my name in the Hill
Fans wonder why we ain't been signed
We done put five different projects out, they hate on our grind (hater)
Labels'll pay you niggaz not to fuck with you
Cause I'm a hood nigga in love with the streets, I guess I'm stuck with you (fuck 'em)
And black ball, I ain't never been blue balled (uh-huh)
Cause I could sing a chick out her drawers like Lou Rawls (Lou Rawls)
You pause, I fast-forward my life
Fans rewind what I write, the be bringin' it back
I ain't tryin' to be the King of the Stat' (uh-huh)
Still my son is a Prince
You know me, gloves, gun with no prints (no prints)
Since I've been here, put niggaz in wheelchairs
Still give back to the hood like welfare (yeah, yeah)
Alright, yeah, yeah, yeah...
[Pa Bazil:]
Who in the hell left the gate open?
Take notice how I've been able to remain focused
The Beethoven back in '95 was straight smokin'
Ain't nothin' changed but the caliber of things I'm holdin'
Aim steady, they ain't ready to buccaneer
Bareback like ya air attack, yeah the culprits here
Remember back in the days, we sold sofas here
Now we lookin' like we was all put inside Oprah's wheel
These Milli Misses really gettin' what we say we do
Ask around, yeah we backed 'em down everyday, it's true
But nowadays we gettin' money cause we cater to
Widespreads of fans across the lands that are paid a few
Opie Oner, the roadrunner, the flow thunder
Four gunners is killin' it all summer
As far as the winter, we puttin' 'em on ice
Put SOHO on an arm, he with a nigga for life
Listen...
[Fes Taylor:] All our life all we wanted was a record deal
[Pa Bazil:] Labels give us a shot
[Lon Dini:] I bet I'll sell a mil
[Fes Taylor:] Ladies, we get 'em though
[Pa Bazil:] Look at our pictures though
[Lon Dini:] So many different shows