INSPECTAH DECK - Brothaz Respect lyrics

rate me

Yup, you got the juice now, man

Niggas respect mine (brothers respect mine, brothers respect mien)

Respect mine (brothers respect mine)

Yo, I be, out here, in these streets

While you be, in the bed, under the sheets

I grind hard, regardless, I'm gon' eat

I don't care how many niggas you roll with or how deep

Cause I say one word, now you fast asleep

I rebute rappers, that spread poison

I come in the meet for him, speak words that make born

You in my brainstorm, I sting men that do the innocent wrong

Your sentiments, you imagining vain things

Neglecting me, but I reign king, savagy and wankstas

Is not a part of my main stream, they plain jeans

I'm King Original, Tao Wu Tazine

Solomon darts, vocabulary Nazarines

Come with a sharp sword, I'm justified by all means, back up from my altar

Falsehood niggas become falser

I came back, and stepped out of the sourcer

Respect mines, make me an offer

Or face the 36 Chambers of Torture

The General, Rebel the great, I'm on money like the president face

Next felony's a federal case

New blood, you can never relate

True blood, you can never debate, not in nueve tres

I spit like a deagle with the speed low

Hustle hard, gamble on the game like Pete Rose

Respect mine, steppin' with the G code

Make a nigga move like cops through the peephole

Manifesto, light it like a techno club

Outside and don't expect no love

Rolling like a west coast thug til the wheels fall off

And I be damned if you step on cause

Brohters respect vets, son is a vet

Henny rap, feel it up on your chest

Green eyes try and smuggle my rep, so upset but you love it to death

Get it in, shits, nothing to Deck, he set

For respect, I empty shots out of this tech

Catch homey at the light, drag him out of his Lex'

On the edge like Q on the ledge, you got the Juice now

I took a pledge to the streets, since it was goosed down

Police move foul, I can move the crowd

Freestyle or bang bang, any rapper shoot him down

Pull the ruger out, from the Hill to the Harbor

Bloomingdale Road, Goonberg, stupid clout

Old school money, get it from my grandad

So I use a nigga face like I punch a sandbag

Ran fats when the van passed

My pants sag, scuffs on my Air Max, blood on my man's rag

Got the homey loc'ing, I'm still Wolfpacking

Looking like Kobe open, just passing

Two 4, numbers I rep

So my hunger for this bread probably hustle to death, yeah