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Fes Taylor lyrics : "More Trouble"


I love what I'm doin'
I've always wanted to say

I started when I was about five years



Sense, man, gettin' it started
Y'all know the flow is !@$!ed
So I'm a keep it goin' regardless

Who the hardest that you ever heard?
Maxin' out on every word
Still got a shotgun flow, mixed with a Dese verse

Gift wrapper or rappers, solo, clapper of clappers
The fresh Dickie suit is under the mattress
"Ain't Nuthin' but a G Thang", we bring surgeries

Gun clap, fall back, white tees, burgundy
These ^!$$%z never heard of me
Still, they try and murder me

Teflon with the chest plate, try hurtin' me
Yo, you're poop with the groupers, my live ^!$$%z shoot with the shooters
You the type that'll lose with the losers

A gift to producers, cause music beats is like cars to the streets
It's so natural, I flow at you
My little ^!$$%z, man, they nuts like cashews

Cash Rules, we get up in these ^!$$%z like tattoos



Aiyo, don't ask if I'm down with the Wu
Just cause I'm from Staten Island, yeah I $#&@ with Deck, but I rep the 4 and the 2
Catchin' me Hillside Scramblin', (*##$es like "Ooh! "

When I hop out the brand new, 645, tan and blue
The middle of winter, look I've got a tan too
She popped me with royalty cheques, look at my advance too

The year of the Warriors, every year the %#@! is gettin' cornier
Throw chicks in front of my shorty, make her hornier
This is a warning to ya, fake-ass rappers actin' like they want with ya

'Til I blast, should've ignored the liquor
You saw the picture, front page, all of my ^!$$%z
Like magazine covers, that's why the streets love us

Some rest in peace above us, some in the beast and wonder
When they hit the streets who freakin' they baby mother
If we don't got %#@!, still know we got each other

Haters try and block me like pucks but this ain't hockey, $#&@er!



Welcome to New York, yao, welcome to New York
No disrespect to truth, but homey I am the truth, yup
They call me Lot-a, baby, that black.380 crazy

I'm smokin' like Frasier, you see all these damn haters (*##$?
Cause my watch cost a flick, and my chain cost a brick
And my (*##$ like Halle and Puffy mixed

You don't really wanna go there, homeboy, ya too soft
Just like beef, I get it gone just like goof off
I'm in that two-door, draggin' along like two balls

"Murder Was the Case" of the song playin' by Snoop Dogg
Lot-a-Nerv, lot-a-money, lot-a-guns
Lot-a's $$#? Never that, y'all ^!$$%z is !@$)s

Yup, yup, Lot-a's gettin' cash, jealous ^!$$%z envy, yeah
^!$$%z wan' pop off, but we all know you $#&@ with shafts



Lon Dini sip Heini's, hood labelled me grimy
Goons wanna send out some goons to outline me

That's why when I step out the buildin' I watch behind me
God guide me, I mean that, greatest to ever rap
Live by my words, seen many people die on the curb

When I heard, mice, we left, man, I felt the I'll surge
I guess, that's why I go in the booth and spill it loose
Never pooly, on spot writer, I scribe fire

Fly attire I rock, heavy pistols I pop
Say a prayer for the peasents when the boss gettin' dropped
No more givin' dap to fake cats, lyrically aren't the match

My Milli movement like powerful music, like only we do this
Step inside the square, half-@@#!ed and smack stupid
Hear my voice, you can loop it, you'll be makin' a hit

Send 'em digits through to Two 4 War, now we legit
Dini, LIS, Fes and Baby Pa, we killin' this %#@!


My freedom's, right in front of my eyes

Been up top for a while, now I'm back on S.I.
Seen the hood ain't changed, just the seasons of the year
And the labels on the clothes that my hood ^!$$%z wear
Got up with Pa Bear and told him, "This is our year"
We all black out babies, with promisin' careers

It's time to switch up the near, go to the fifth, hit the nitro
I'm tryin' to make it happen, ain't no time for the micro
And tryin' to move this weight like lypo
I done flooded small towns with weight like a psycho
I done made towns hot with fire like a pyro

I'm just tryin' to hit the stock market, a tycoon like Tyco
Just gimme one shot, I'll scope the spot like a rifle
Showin' my $$# on tracks like end those to motorcycles
With the Stat on my back and attack like it's a light load
Got no patience for the fast brother behind my back, that's what the pipe's fo'



They call me man in arms, ^!$$%z that can handle problems
Certified in guns and ammo, camouflaged with standard bombs
You probably fan of ours, heard us on the channel knob
Not so long ago we was pinnin' ^!$$%z with hammers on 'em

It's Milli Millionaires, Two 4's the company
Trust me, in a year, on our side is where you wanna be
All-star occassion, four stars, amazin'
Dudes can't $#&@ with nann none of these songs we makin'
Watch for the double agents and the infiltrators
Get it independent, don't $#&@ with these damn majors




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