[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a nigga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, niggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, nigga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill
[Verse 1: Reek Da Villian]
I don’t care about the money that your man make
I hit a homerun, now I’m runnin through my fan base
Up the green from a garden to a landscape
Sounds be the only lingo cops will never translate
They pull up, I pull out that thing and pop it
I ain’t fuckin with no dicks, I’m on that Lorena Bobbitt
I’m no Davie but them ladies say the boys way be Crockett
I’m the plug in the street and you a motherfuckin socket
Had to chill for a while but I’m welcomed back
Was low key, how I’m underneath the welcome mat
Now the bitches see me in the Forbes
So if I give you my number, like a finny you should call
You should tell your man to chill cause you’re fuckin with a dog
And he be firecracker flaming and you fuckin with a ball
I got them crills on the street, got Jahlil on the beat
Only Phantoms, ain’t no Caddys when we roll out in them fleets
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a nigga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, niggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, nigga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill
[Verse 2: J Doe]
Wrist on chill
Neck on chill
Hoes all up in my grill
I cop a feel then I tell that bitch to chill
Hop behind the wheel and get back to chasin that mill
Ok, big black zonin, on shit pumpin
Beef is like a car, to start it I push a button
And it’s over with it’s over with
I don’t know if you noticed it
But I just got my weight up bitch, I’m getting checks and bonuses
Pull up in the covers with, yea I see you lookin
As you should, come and get this wood, yea that getting go
G shot wrist, Reebok kicks
Watch my niggas fuck the place u, King Kong shit
She back and forth on my balls, ping-pong bitch
She playin house with my ding dong, I’m playin ding dong ditch
My bar is too ill, way too trill
Oh that’s yo girl actin up, tell that bitch to chill
For real
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a nigga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, niggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, nigga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill
[Verse 3: Busta Rhymes]
Yea, ya’ll know
When I come through and I lock it
So much bread I should attach a laundry basket to my pocket
You ain’t really knowin, ready for the lesson?
See me whippin a Boeing, 7-47
See the wrist be glowin til I’m shinin like a misfit
Spark with nigga cascade, dish washing liquid
Bread up in the palasades, mansion into stash house
Wildin in the club while bitches dancing with they ass out
Mossberg military in case niggas act out
Wildin like a click over traded niggas blacked out
Why oh why oh why nigga?
You don’t wanna try it
See my niggas squeezing til they finger muscle getting tired nigga
Finish with the coke up watch it rattle through the woofa
Like a kid cooked the coke up in a fuckin pressure cooker
Then I quickly count the profit, cop another castle
Keep cooking until they want a nigga on their cooking channel
You know my style, you see the way I sip up
At 10 thousand a bottle, shit you know my niggas grip up
I’m on that raise the throttle shit, you know I got the hook up
Go ahead and fuckin gobble bitch, it’s simple like the pushup
Rocket launcher swag bitch, see how I’m propelling ya’ll
Taking over everything, I’m tired of telling ya’ll
Why you always talk, could give a fuck what niggas chat bout
Keep applying the pressure until you niggas tap out
Now pass out
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
I tried to tell a nigga chill
Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield
For real, niggas know the drill
Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, tell that bitch to chill
For real, nigga better chill
And if they don’t, just line em up
It’s perfect timin for the kill
