Lay Low - Jay Rock, Storm

It’s Jay Rock niggas know how I get down

Kick in the door, waving that

All in your house searching for those pounds

Lay it down for ya hear that (buck buck) sound

Look at my face, you see we ain’t playin' now

War for the money we’ll tear this fuckin' place down

Movin' from state to state like greyhounds

Face rounds cause we ridin' on blades now

In the hood, sittin' on something clean

Big ass eagle in my lap with a red beam

Pop that head dog in my canteen

Plus that kush got my ass on the damn lean

Rock’ll never handcuff a ho

Pussy is power, I would never ever love another ho

But bitch niggas better lay low

Clap the back of ya head knock your face on the fucking floor

See me in the hood on my gangsta tip loadin' clips

You better lay low

Got a gat in my hand when I’m smokin' a spliff, if you trip

I’ll let my shit blow

If you see me runnin' round with an AK off in my hand

You better get ghost

And I’m bout to do some shit that you might not understand

I’ll let them chills go

Yeah you know my style no need for introductions

I keep the full clip plus repercussions

Shit it’s nothin' to the floss type

Look at my ring finger you get frostbite

Hella chicks so I gotta keep 'em with me man

Storm blow warm wind nigga chain

Plus I hold my on spot I’m a leader fam

Bet the TEC have you flyin' like you Peter Pan

If you all about your paper I’ll fuck with you

Get the diamonds, get the clothes, get the truck with you

Close my mouth, hide them guns, I’ll tuck with you

bitch I got a buck with ya

Hood rich I’m the strongest bitch on my team

And I got 16's that’ll make you scream

And my sixteen clips make niggas lean

Had you looking Indian with my red beam

Gat black like charcoal, let off rounds

See the barrel smokin' like a Marlboro

Pushin' coke I ain’t talkin' bout soda

Nigga, I’m talkin' bout yola

Breakin' down

Fiends at the back door, give 'em what they ask for

May I take your order?

I’m a Watts living soldier

From the projects

Keep Glocks in our pants no holsters

Watch what you when you approach us

Get your ass stepped on like cockroaches

Play the game by ourselves no coaches

No father figures, the streets were our Moses

Fake gangstas, I call 'em hoes

They full of shit like toilet bowls

First draft pick now I’m makin' major dough

Now these chickas wanna lick me like an envelope