Worries - Cella Dwellas

Trouble again, when the dwellas performing, why yo

Worries again, when the dwellas coming skanking

Hey yo, it’s the tall man from the group the cella dwellas

I rock ruff and stuff, but no afro puff

Y’all better start learning, for whom is concerning

My style makes niggas vexed like mississippi burning

All these wack MC’s trying to be o-dog and manage at society

At my show’s iamb, that’s when I get possessed by the gods like Raiden

The Panamanian,

Tasmanian,

AK’s like an Arabian

Move the lady and, the baby and, I gets kinda crazy and

Shady and, when I flex the .380 and

Niggas got no wins, crush them like wheat thins

Peace to all the shorties whoever hit me off with skins

When them fed bloodshed by the liter

No impala, 850 coupe two seater

And mida, mida mayne, don’t sleep

One love to my all peeps that rest in peace

Phone dials from the rooftop

Stay in trouble like 2Pac,

With dumb dumb and hollow tips

Some swallow shit, others get grazed

Others burn and cause to blaze, bruh

Under ground, gets down for his

So blond kids putting krazy glue on the eyelids, so

Act like Po and get low, when you hear the ch-ch blow blow

Of the boo-ya, bringing it to ya chest, hit ya cardio

Muscle is the part of ya, hustle the bus stop

To rust stock, to come from empty em

Many men, big dust when the max lit

When the track hits the dat split from the fat shit

You better prepare for warfare in the Brooklyn streets

Don’t pick up your chest or fake gats

Cuz mats is what I run to, and gun through

Bodies, niggas die for cash causing haughty

Gotti is the Italian stallion I want to be like

Me and you G ride cracks like ninja bikes

Watch yo ass, cuz Cella Dwellas lurking

Name ain’t Anthony, but the shank’s still perking

Out my stoop got mad troops

In my ride I wanna sun roof and stash place to make the gun proof

From the keystone cops who get no props

For these soldier toys, trying to be rough like corduroy

If you want the drama caps get peeled, like that is real

Like that for crab niggas who squeal like that

And chit chat behind my back, lie fair face

Them kinda tricks we convict on the stair case

Yo some bad news, like the bad

Where’s my homies?

like killa now

My killer style gets the check, so I can pay the bills

To get the dills, run up in chicks named Beverly hills

9−0-2−1-0, the duo dynamic, so push the panic button

How UG be the emcee, you can’t see, like the muppets nanny

The man be sticking niggas for grand

(Shit be walking in the dark alley man)

Like Chris Tucker, shit raiser, in the wrist band

Riff and, open your mouth is like?

box

So stop screwing and bad looks

Don’t tempt me, to let the 4−4 empty