Tommy Gibbs

Tommy Gibbs - Qbx (Scared To Speak) lyrics

rate me

(feat. Lord Tariq)

[Tommy Gibbs]

Times be desperate, spit ya best shit

In this business, on some life or death

I've been high in these streets, cried in these streets

Willing, but I'm trying not to die on these streets

Got my mind on my stack, vibe on a track

Hang with them cats that twist niggas back

Gibbs moves state to state, cakin a stash

I sware, trying to watch them there, don't wanna crash

Destination far, got killas in the car

Minute we touch down, niggas know who we are

Bubble in the spot, till it get too hot

And then we blowin that one horse town back on the block

In the mix, my click stay back to back

We gon' the metal clap, till the shit jump back

Guarantee to get wet, when my bronze connect

Make moves when it's on, straight bomb ya set

[Chorus x2: Both]

Gibbs and Tariq

Got ya scared to speak

Cuz when it pop, ya might not drop

But you gon leak

Ready to die, two of the best from NY

Niggas feelin theyselves, it's welcome to try

[Lord Tariq]

The name of the father, son, holy ghost and spirit

If it's rhymes, I'mma spit it, Dutch, I'mma split it

Cash we gonna get it, Coke money to credit, we do it to debt it

These rules and bet it, Loan to Tommy Gibbs,

by any means get cream

Nigga mob we is, BX to Queens

Give a fuck about the set you screen, the set you ream

Cuz when I wave this motherfuckin tech you lean

Logic, we in it for the prophet

Won't stop less the barricade, the white stone and cars lit

Hot shit, we spit, got shit to get

Doin are own thing, 90 in a slow lane

Smoke the cocaine, trying to own things

In a Jag, bumpin Cuban, you own grown things

Two of the illest niggas, ain't shit gon' change

For this paper, I split ya brains, so get your things

[Chorus x2]

[Tommy Gibbs]

Bet it all on we, watch us push red line on these niggas

Bring the whole squad, go hard on these niggas

Ain't thinkin bout the law, just walk up to they door

Beat them to the jaw, heat them to the floor

Stop till they drill and they wrists is locked

Funny how they ain't go no more shit to pop

Make it hot for the paper, you drop for the paper

Run up in your spot, twin glocks for the paper

[Lord Tariq]

Drug caper in the rap game, quick to pull a swami

Met up with my O.Y.G. niggas in Miami

Die for the cause together nigga we family

They can't stand me, thugs up for a Grammy

Feds wanna snatch me, they caught works and scriptures

Think I don't see them in the club takin pictures

Call the phone, hang up, times they say "We gonna get ya"

If the studios bugged, with all respect

Get off my dick son

[Chorus x2]

Get this song at:

Share your thoughts

0 Comments found