Lay Low
[Intro]
[Verse 1: Jay Rock]
It's Jay Rock niggas know how I get down
Kick in the door, waving that [?]
All in your house searching for those pounds
Lay it down for ya hear that (buck buck) sound
Look at my face, you see we ain't playin' now
War for the money we'll tear this fuckin' place down
Movin' from state to state like greyhounds
Face rounds cause we ridin' on blades now
In the hood, sittin' on something clean
Big ass eagle in my lap with a red beam
Got that hen dog in my canteen
Plus that cali kush got my ass on the damn lean
Rock'll never handcuff a ho
Pussy is power, I would never ever love another ho
But bitch niggas better lay low
Clap the back of ya head knock your face on the fucking floor
[Hook: Jay Rock]
See me in the hood on my gangsta tip loadin' clips
You better lay low
Got a gat in my hand when I'm smokin' a spliff, if you trip
I'll let my shit blow
If you see me runnin' round with an AK off in my hand
You better get ghost
And I'm bout to do some shit that you might not understand
I'll let them chills go
[Verse 2: Storm]
Yeah you know my style no need for introductions
I keep the full clip plus repercussions
Shit it's nothin' to the boss type, floss type
Look at my ring finger you get frostbite
Hella chicks so I gotta keep 'em with me man
Storm blow warm wind nigga chain [?]
Plus I hold my on spot I'm a leader fam
Bet the TEC have you flyin' like you Peter Pan
If you all about your paper I'll fuck with you
Get the diamonds, get the clothes, get the truck with you
Close my mouth, hide them guns, I'll tuck with you
[?] bitch I got a buck with ya
Hood rich I'm the strongest bitch on my team
And I got 16's that'll make you scream
And my sixteen clips make niggas lean
Had you looking Indian with my red beam
[Hook]
[Verse 3: Jay Rock]
Gat black like charcoal, let off rounds
See the barrel smokin' like a Marlboro
Pushin' coke I ain't talkin' bout soda
Nigga, I'm talkin' bout yola
Breakin' down [?]
Fiends at the back door, give 'em what they ask for
May I take your order?
I'm a Watts living soldier
From the projects
Keep Glocks in our pants no holsters
Watch what you when you approach us
Get your ass stepped on like cockroaches
Play the game by ourselves no coaches
No father figures, the streets were our Moses
Fake gangstas, I call 'em hoes
They full of shit like toilet bowls
First draft pick now I'm makin' major dough
Now these chickas wanna lick me like an envelope
[Hook]