Medina Style - Cella Dwellas

I don’t like to write about the bad times and the bad

Crimes or how I stuck up or martyr dimes

Already stressed, dealing with the niggas that’s fake

The industry snakes and on the streets is the jakes

Half of y’all talking how much you keep it real

The other half of y’all don’t even got deals

Already that rah-rah you’re screaming?

Already lived it

Saw the realm side of hip hop, we tried to give it

Never did the court cases, phone traces, car chases

Or been incarcerated like Scarfaces—huh!

I remember those days, that’s how I was living

I did more robbings that givings, but hey

Now I freak Megahurtz beats (Beats), 150

‘Cause I don’t eat (Eat), still ain’t nothing sweet (Sweet)

You’re name ain’t Sanford and you ain’t got no Sons

Don’t play me for Grady.

My trigger finger benches 380

No need for jaw-tapping or scrapping

I’m from Brooklyn, so I’m Original Gun-Clapping

I get

Mad dramatic, jam like automatics when I’m speaking (True)

Icepicks and razors hit your face and leave you leaking—huh!

U.G., my mood swings like the Dodgers

I’ll push your wig back, hit my crib, and change my shit like Mister Rogers

(Whoo!)

My skills bust off like a 9 m & m

When it hits your skin, burns like a weed stem—check it!

Champagne, money, and TECs (TECs), a Lex (Lex)

On my wrist is a crisp, blue-faced Rolex (Uh huh)

With diamonds, assorted Timbs, MOMO rims

Sipping gin straight, take your flicks holding two trey-eights (Yeah)

Nickel-plated, hated by po-po, cop dough like

A bank teller, and Old Gold makes my piss yeller

What, what?!?

Who want it?

It’s time to get dough

(Time to blow, rock a show, bag a ho).

Yeah

‘Cause niggas know our steelo on the low for real

(Blast steel. Yo, son, what’s the deal?)

CD’s the newest and illest breed of emcees

Trying to get this crib, a Land, and Bent keys.

When I’m

Done with this, get my son in this, but, for now, I’m running this

The dangerous, the ruggedness from the Flatbush abyss

I down 151 Bacardi Dark, shoot threes

In any park, BK is the mark, Church Ave

I represent, shooting cee-lo on the corner

Sipping Corona.

The only Gaye I want is Nona—huh!

I light your crib up like my name was GE.

Lyri-

-cally, not many can see me or U.G.

Remember

We got the rhymes that you wanna listen ta.

Once it’s

In your deck, leave it in like conditioner.

I’m on a

Mission ta make you understand my plan and get

Four, five, six grand doing shows in Japan

Yo, check

This (What?).

Reckless kids run rampant with guns

But I run rampant for funds, wanting jewels by the tons

Son (Yeah).

It’s been real since nine months.

Pull out

My frame, step on ‘em, and I’ll blow you with my fronts, you dig?

Notorious like B.I.G., push back

A wig, drove a Ac' Vig' that was stolen one

Day, gunplay similar to Jesse James (Yeah)

Could set the flames (Uh huh) while I bag a Notre Dame.

I used to

Hop the trains, now I rock Italian chains, clothes

With names of fashion, on my boots, blasting

New guns with funds like I hit the lottery, flicks

Kicks, chicks, shape like pottery, I’m on-point

Kid, the anointed rapper will amaze ya

I’m iller, I’ll bless the mic then be Ghost like Face Killah

What, what?!?

Who want it?

It’s time to get dough

(Time to blow, rock a show, bag a ho).

Yeah

‘Cause niggas know our steelo on the low for real

(Blast steel. Yo, son, what’s the deal?)