Billy Cook - Drama lyrics
rate me(feat. Meechie, H.A.W.K.)
[Hook:]
These haters, up in the game
They really don't want drama, drama no
Them boys, up in the game
They really don't want drama, drama no
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na-na, no
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na-na, no
[Billy Cook:]
These haters in the game, gon make me pop a vein
Hotter than four bowls of Mexican chili, on the top of a stove boiling mayn
These boys better save that drama, for they baby mama
Keep my name out your mouth, and watch what you say
I'm calling niggaz out one by one, two by two and your weak ass crew
You bring the best out of me, now tell me what you gon do
Peep the real and I peep the fake, load lyrical clips up in the AK
And I'm B.M.G. 1965, black T fitted cap and I'm certified
Always smiling, up in my face
Talking that shit, and I'm gon catch a case
Who's that going around, talking down on Billy Cook
Saying, that he ain't the truth in the booth
And he only sing hooks locally, and he ain't in the game
[Hook]
[H.A.W.K.:]
These boys don't really want drama, put that on Pat and my mama
It's mash point period comma, I blow shit up like that boy Osama
Bin Laden boys be plotting, fuck around and you get shot'n
Fuck around and you'll get caught, and they'll be digging your burial plot'n
See H.A.W.K. don't play them games, don't mess around with no names
I cock back load and aim, and put a big hole in the ceiling your brain
That boy is off the chain, that boy is off the hook
That boy got the Southside shook, cause he finally did a song with Billy Cook
Got haters green with envy, that's just that Fat Pat in me
Them haters wanna know who we are, when they see you coming down in a brand new Bentley
Ask around if you in H-Town, they'll tell you I don't play around
They'll tell you that pound for pound, Big H.A.W.K. will make you lay it down
And to these messy girls, don't make me rock your world
I'll give you some'ing good, that's bound to make your toes curl
Have you chasing after nuts like a squirrel, baby girl I call it karma
You keep on giving me the good, but baby save the drama
[Hook]
[Meechie:]
Pull up on your block, in a all white Lac
With a all black mack, fully compact gat
Step back shake, them haters off my nutsack
I'm from the city, where the coke and the clutch at
Slug hair back, for the love of the game
Leave a hater face down, like the brother of Kane
Never think yours, that'll smother your brain
Lethal weapon like Glover, going out with a bang
Y'all don't want drama, with some mud city bangers
Cook/H.A.W.K. and Blow, now that spell danger
I'll send em in your house, all up in your hamper
Or leave your mama holding her heart, like Fred Sanford
Call me the dean, you can call me the champ
First school of hard knock, hold your kid for ransom
Keep playing with the fire, like go-go dancer
Keep a coat full of killers, like Charles Manson
[Hook]
These haters, up in the game [x2]
