When The Clock Ticks (feat. J. Sands) - Jazz Liberatorz

I told J. Flint, these rhymes can pay rent

Need to holler 'bout some dollars cause mine yo they spent

Gas, light, electric, and condo fee got me stressed kid

They call me on the phone, he’s not home can I take a message?

Dodgein, dropped a half a grand on my lodge and

Sprint to sprint went right upside my noggin

Thinkin 'bout robbin', maybe gettin' a job and

Employee of the year at Baskin Robin’s

Livin' life, you know what cost to be in it

Some leave early, you just start now you finished

Paid the highest tax, enough cheese to buy a rack

Not to floss with that, tryna cop the flyer gats

Man two bucks a gallon got my pockets cold wilin'

I’d rather just stay at the crib creatin' styles and

New hot shit like Chinese food chop sticks

Cause when the clock ticks

I need a profit

Yo, When the clock ticks

I need a profit

I take a pull from the leaf like the Indian chief

Hop in the whip full clip just to defend me in streets

And that’s a shame but the lames got the game all changed

Draw aim and bust that thing for small fame

On the news arraign

One life took, one life booked

Now two niggas will never see the sunlight look

That’s half the cats around my way, whole generation sway

On some Willie Lynch shit but happenin' today

I was rappin to my rays about how whitey’s a trip

Think life is only what society grips

Man my niggas slang dope to dank, coke, and sherm

Makin' all type of dollars with no tax return

I wish the wack would learn, Instead of frontin' like they know it

You wanna impress me, drop a track I can flow with, and roll up

Jazz Lib, the cold crush with, chika chika, J. Sands no man can hold us

Yo, When the clock ticks

I need a profit

Yo I was blessed, never had to run in the streets

Growin' up slingin' sheets with a gun in my fleece

See in my hood family’s deep, always somethin' to eat

But not a cookout everyday, straight a month and a week

Ridin' down Federal, how it’s changed incredible

Cleaned out, fiend out, things out, you better move

Them the kids by the alpine, shout out to crowd tryin'

To murk your cast with the gats heard the loud sign

'93 was the worst year on the earth here, a hundred plus murders

Niggas thinkin' that this turfs theirs, ridin' for it

The white man own it, they dyin' for it, another way god sakes

Momma’s cryin' for it, now youngins on the same trip

You wasn’t allowed off your porch now you gang bang sick

Talkin' all that hot shit, man you got the plot flipped

Just because I called you cuz don’t mean I walk crip

Yo, When the clock ticks

I need a profit