FES TAYLOR - Moneta lyrics

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Moneta / Fes Taylor[Fes Taylor]This ain't an intro, this is rap terrorismMake sure you got Two 4 blasting in your systemTurn tracks to victims, mask on, stick 'em upYeah give it up, before the paramedics pick you upFrom the cold concrete, drop bombs on your feetI be palming the heat, act calm in the streetsTill it jump off, why you wanna make me act crazyThey be telling police all about, hoping they cage meSnitches get stitches, always been a rude, growing upNowadays put you in a grave, soon as I get cuffedOne officer got snuffed, resisting arrestYou think I'm going peacefully? I don't give a fuck who you areShow me respect, blow you like breath from a dying manFor the OG's who'll probably die in the canThese livewire lyrics the club be scared to playCuz my hooks get the party popping, like AK'sSo make way, part the crowd, let the kid throughIf we got beef, for real, try to get rid of youHoes like visual arts, you see the ghetto through my eyesLearn how to take pistols apartPut them together, professional street thug MC'sTook it to the business level, now we seeing cheeseNo books I wrote in, worth more than Mickey Mantle's cardI live life risky and leave it in the hands of GodPlaya, it's Fes Taylor, top notch rapperGrimey like stick-up kids and pocketbook snatchers[Chorus: Fes Taylor]Make money, get out hustle, bring dollars inTake money, that's what my gangsta be hollaringGet money, yeah, I need a whole lot of itFlip money, so we'll never run out of itGet it on, with whoever, whenever, for this cheddarWilding over Moneta, the more, the better[Fes Taylor]I'm Fes Taylor, somebody that you can't avoidIf rapping's your job, about to live you unemployedUnless you rolling with us, blowing a Dutch, know what's upEverything you holding we crush, total your truckTrying to get away, like fuck, damn, them niggas found usPut you with the founders, after the four poundersBlood like water fountains, all on your trousersFor atleast fifteen ounces, I run up in housesTwo Forty Warriors, flood the projectsWith narcotics, big pistols and sharp objectsGatling Isle, N.Y., my hood be realLike the lead MC from Cypress Hill, Park HillStreets is wild, hoes I pull 'em like root canalsNeighbors complain, chicks be moaning, so I keep the music loudBreak MC's down, before was only breaking the lawMoneta: The Album, presented by Two 4Profes, the artist, Fes Taylor, the gangstaSpit darts like no one else, that's why I'm ranked theNumber one soloist, rookie of the year, rapAll that hot shit you talking, the God hear thatCars, jewels, houses and money, playa, where it at?Niggas get buck fifties like they buying Air MaxBubble your face up, Park Hill, lames keep they chains tuckedCuz they heard of us, ShaolinWe the Wolfpack Warriors, we be dumbing outSee me at your baby mother's house, coming outAiyo, I dart down raps, melt plastic all waysI'm like, Bishop from Juice, pull out ratchets on friendsIf you cross me, make the block hot like coffeeIn front of your boys, you yelling 'get him off me'The game's salty, tastes like seawaterAny MC slaughter, CEO's, blow trees with they daughtersHave 'em rocking WP headbandsAnd two shows in the pro-ho van, til they knees hurtWe creep through the dirt, Taylor put in workRide through your hood, next day, with a smirk, what up?Heat first, coming through your door, one burstHit son, homicide, damn, yo, police thirstCursing out the judge, my niggas won't budgeWe got a four hundred year old grudge, muthafucka...