FES TAYLOR - Piano Gangsta lyrics

rate me

Yeah, Chambermusik, Two 4 War Entertainment

Taylor, Yo Clef what it is baby, (It's nothing man) Uh huh

(Just let these fools know what time it is with you man)

They say Taylor falling off, Well it's a long drop from the top

Hard enough to make the concrete crack if I flop

And I still got crack on the block

So my income, It come like I'm cashing a lot

A fetish for jewelry your passion is shot

Still, I threaten the jury, Blasting the glock

See times passing on the clock, I'm tryna take the batteries out

A G until the coroners carry me out

A salary ouch, Hurt a broke nigga's feeling

We ain't got college degrees, So my niggas dealing

Four wheel'n the drop, You see the ceiling

This nigga squealing, So we concealing

Only revealing when it comes to dealing with drama

That's nine llamas to your baby Momma

Shouts to Big Gill, Every dollar he invest

Some niggas talk about, Clef write it on the check

I'm a piano gangsta, I'm just playing with these keys

So much ice on they saying I'm a freeze

Like it's cold outside, Below zero degrees

Growing up, Niggas on corners they was heroes to me

Ayo, I'm too cool to be a fool, Too fly to even do

Any type of sucker shit, Just look how my hustle groove

I seen a couple crews crumble through the struggle too

Yeah I had to struggle too, Just to get comfortable

Nah that ain't enough for you, Hip Hop still got love for you

Tryna get something new for the summer group

I play the corner guzzle'n brews, Honies with hair do's

That stop stare and smile at my dudes

Since days one-four-two break bread, I'm the state champ

World wide, Can enter passport, Ain't scared

Now it's back to Park Hill, I'm Shaolin's finest

So now when they speak to me it's pardon me your highness

Inside of me feel like a part of me is dying

Cause I just got word that my Grandfather dying

So I'm still in the studio writing these hits

While niggas in the business still biting my shit

Might see me with Yung Budd, Hoes say I'm a young stud

Most niggas yelling one blood, I'm yelling one dove

It takes one slug to put you under the rug

Under a house, Picture a corpse covered with bugs

Cause you snitching, Caught, Crib covered with bugs

Not roaches, Speaking CD's think I'm talking bout drugs

On the phones I ain't talking bout much

If you hear me saying that we eating listen I ain't talking bout lunch

Crunch n' Munch breaks the Fruity Pebble chain

Ruby red rains, Kind of like a booty of a dame

Wow, I raise my brow up like The Rock

Still down for a flip I get it twenty a whop

I sell it thirty a pop, But if I bag it

I can make sixty thousand at times, That's a lot

I guess I'm just a chip off the old block

You know first my Grand Pop's did it

Then my Pop's, Now it's my turn