Sigel in State Prop lyrics

by

Busta Rhymes


[Verse]
Look, my shooter going for his eighth body
Half a cake on the table, clean your plate Bobby
Keep a K by me, back seat of the grey Mazi
Shot in my head and lived, I'm the n*gga you can't body
My dawg went upstate for a robbery
They gave him 15, been down 4
He’ll be home in another 8 probably
n*gga we had beef with
Was in the same jail thinking he safe probably
Left the meat hanging off his face sloppy
Yeah, a yam of white go for a handsome price
Whip them grams 'til night
Turn on that cold water, hand me ice
Dip my hands in ice, b*tches see how my wrist is dancing, yikes!
Them racks I ran I stack my bands up Tyson Chandler height
Snatched the phantom white
Your b*tch said I’m that n*gga, damn you right (I guess you right baby)
My safe look like I pulled off the Lufthansa Heist
Ratchet, blam, goodnight
I’m The Machine b*tch, don’t hand me mics
God flow, I slap one of these rappers with the hands of Christ
On Grammy night, look, don’t talk to me 'bout how you trapping either
You can’t afford it or I don’t f*ck with you, so don’t ask for features (don't ask me for no f*cking features)
I'm back in Neimans spending racks on sneakers
Copped the Balenciagas rocking Raf Adidas
Dawg was selling dog food, I thought all he had was reefer
This n*gga had his hands on boy like a catholic preacher
This that animal rough sh*t
I'm with the same shooters that I ran through the cut with
Griselda motherf*ckers, we don’t stand for no f*ck sh*t
I'm Sigel in State property, what hand you roll up with?
This for them n*ggas still selling base
Married to the streets, smoking wedding cake
MAC-11 by the waist, the felons can relate
Even Warren G respect the way I Regulate
My youngin shooting like he Lillard he don’t hesitate
And every time we score on the opps we got to celebrate
Machine
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