Flamboyant (Freestyle #2) lyrics

Yeah, East Side GI, what up?
Goon life, what up?

These bench warmers never actually been part of the action
I wanna be legit, but being broke would be a distraction
My only interest is pimping and pandering, pistol packing
So f*ck rap, I ain't that n*gga that be rapping bout rapping

I got away with sh*t that could've put me under the prison
My recent run ins with police has got me under suspicion
I bet they never find me guilty under my own admission
This sh*t was part of god's plan, this was not my decision
In hell's kitchen, but I'm chefing up a fresh cold plate of revenge
On you f*ck n*ggas and fair weather friends

I got 'em nervous cause I still got it, n*ggas still rocking
Despite my flights with police lights and light pockets
I'm still the same dog
Same killer flow but your rap is a different game, dog
Not gone compromise my pride to entertain ya'll
Hip hop I damn near hate ya'll
I'm sick and tired of all these Autotuned ass n*ggas
I miss Nate Dogg

Miss me with that back and forth video blogging
Cause a n*gga really out here robbing
If I felt you was a bona fide problem, I'd bring it straight at ya
Only Youtube n*ggas bust guns on camera
I could shoot dudes quicker than paramedics can handle
Watch a muhf*cker down that ambo, take his last ride
Indiana's all time greatest, but I ain't satisfied
f*ck the rap game, I'm your favorite by a landslide
Whether n*ggas know it or not yet
My sh*t about to knock on every block, every project
It's East 17th, put it down for my set
So blame it on them crackers why my album ain't dropped yet

I guess I'm too hard for Power 92 and GCI
And I'm just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Chi'
But b*tch I'm out the dos-uno-nueve, es para mi que llegue
Pushed D in EC and got in shootouts with eses
Them n*ggas down in 'Nap know that I ain't scared to blast, nig'
Jack them pus*y n*ggas for they rims at the Classic
A black mass of black kush wrapped in plastic
35 dollars for the gram, I was taxing

Telephone calls from her man while I'm smashing
Slay your main dame, have her mashin' for rations
Your ho' give me the whole check, so ho' check it
Got smokers on my team that like to smoke they dope naked
With a crack ho' stroking his rope
He want the hard and the broad, so I'm serving 'em both
I flip a spot to a one stop shop for rock and hot cot
Got lines of Lenny Bias, to throw in your snot box

n*ggas rhyme these days, at times it's not hot
Labels buy they own records and pay for the top spot
Am I in the wrong business, I wonder, "Should I stop?
Is my music gon take care of my mama if I flop?"
Is a n*gga gon depend on that?
I think not, if you think so
You think slow, so don't think, ho'
Freddie Gibbs run up in cribs like Kris Kringle
Touch down and talk more sh*t than Ocho Cinco
My people slaved in this American regime
Bismillah ir Rahman ir Raheem, stay on my din
Praise to the most high, f*ck everything in between
Seen young black kings and queens turned to fiends
Swallowed up in the machine, nahmean, straight greasy
You lock a n*gga up, what I'ma do when you release me?
Shout to Finger Roll, C Mac, and Will Screezy
The reason why I make it look easy, East Side, n*gga