Eddie B - The Warning lyrics

rate me

ft. Sean Price & Termanology

Stay calm, don’t make me spit the napalm

Half A rap bitch, I can make bombs

I can make moms come inside they’re panties

I’m breaking up your family like little orphan Annie

You rappers hardly manly, that’s because you bitch me

I be kicking dope, verses sharper than a switchblade

I twist haze but I mix it with the twizzle

I’m in your bitch and you, dummy, you just that sequel

Yella, yella, mraah, I love my people

I’m on point like uncle Najib with the desert eagle

Every P is lethal and everyone should know that

I rock a fresh Yankee with the berries in this throwback

You so whack, hold that in your cranium

My shot like the lights hanging over a giant stadium

You rappers shouldn’t play with him, he burns cats alive

Like a Chinese chef, a quarter after five, peace!

Truly concrete, I spit street strictly

Don’t overstay the stay, I keep heat with me

Whenever I lay my hat, it’s good

Whenever I spray my gut you know that I’m good

Mandela, Sean is my covering

Everything I spit, shotgun with the rubber grid

Summer shit, pad polo shorts, lengthy blue ones on

Pull the White T fan mail, fuck you doing, Sean?

You right, fuck clothes, fuck flows

Diabolic, the shit that fighting was probably candy to pop

Hits you in them bands and you’re shot

Rubber to the dark side, you make Anakin stop

Planning to pop, niggas ain’t planning to pop

Dismantle your knot then I manhandle your guap

Keep it loot across the board, don’t make plans with the cops

These niggas will have your status be as hot as a cop

My bitch a cannibal ‘cause she eat dick

36 chambers meets Mafia 36

Three fifths of these rappers is fake

The other portion is late

‘Ology, Harry Ford in the place, we make hip hop

That’ll leave a scar in the game

A box cutter, ice cutter, chainsaw on the blade

I sell drugs, bring my whole block in the game

Whole club full of leakers tryna plot on your chain

I rock jewels, both hands is King Tut

Do you cast 30 even though I’m clean cut

Jean pack the stuff and ready to pack the scene’s up

30 countries in two years, I gotta keep up

Speak up when you talk to me, son, I ree up with bosses

So I ain’t fucking with you, impostors

Got a Macbook that’s filled up with mad hoes

Damn hooker’s butt, man, you know how it goes

We treat ‘em cold