Chill

[Chorus: Busta Rhymes] I tried to tell a nigga chill Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield For real, niggas know the drill Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, nigga better chill And if they don’t, just line em up It’s perfect timin for the kill [Verse 1: Reek Da Villian] I don’t care about the money that your man make I hit a homerun, now I’m runnin through my fan base Up the green from a garden to a landscape Sounds be the only lingo cops will never translate They pull up, I pull out that thing and pop it I ain’t fuckin with no dicks, I’m on that Lorena Bobbitt I’m no Davie but them ladies say the boys way be Crockett I’m the plug in the street and you a motherfuckin socket Had to chill for a while but I’m welcomed back Was low key, how I’m underneath the welcome mat Now the bitches see me in the Forbes So if I give you my number, like a finny you should call You should tell your man to chill cause you’re fuckin with a dog And he be firecracker flaming and you fuckin with a ball I got them crills on the street, got Jahlil on the beat Only Phantoms, ain’t no Caddys when we roll out in them fleets [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] I tried to tell a nigga chill Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield For real, niggas know the drill Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, nigga better chill And if they don’t, just line em up It’s perfect timin for the kill [Verse 2: J Doe] Wrist on chill Neck on chill Hoes all up in my grill I cop a feel then I tell that bitch to chill Hop behind the wheel and get back to chasin that mill Ok, big black zonin, on shit pumpin Beef is like a car, to start it I push a button And it’s over with it’s over with I don’t know if you noticed it But I just got my weight up bitch, I’m getting checks and bonuses Pull up in the covers with, yea I see you lookin As you should, come and get this wood, yea that getting go G shot wrist, Reebok kicks Watch my niggas fuck the place u, King Kong shit She back and forth on my balls, ping-pong bitch She playin house with my ding dong, I’m playin ding dong ditch My bar is too ill, way too trill Oh that’s yo girl actin up, tell that bitch to chill For real [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] I tried to tell a nigga chill Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield For real, niggas know the drill Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, nigga better chill And if they don’t, just line em up It’s perfect timin for the kill [Verse 3: Busta Rhymes] Yea, ya’ll know When I come through and I lock it So much bread I should attach a laundry basket to my pocket You ain’t really knowin, ready for the lesson? See me whippin a Boeing, 7-47 See the wrist be glowin til I’m shinin like a misfit Spark with nigga cascade, dish washing liquid Bread up in the palasades, mansion into stash house Wildin in the club while bitches dancing with they ass out Mossberg military in case niggas act out Wildin like a click over traded niggas blacked out Why oh why oh why nigga? You don’t wanna try it See my niggas squeezing til they finger muscle getting tired nigga Finish with the coke up watch it rattle through the woofa Like a kid cooked the coke up in a fuckin pressure cooker Then I quickly count the profit, cop another castle Keep cooking until they want a nigga on their cooking channel You know my style, you see the way I sip up At 10 thousand a bottle, shit you know my niggas grip up I’m on that raise the throttle shit, you know I got the hook up Go ahead and fuckin gobble bitch, it’s simple like the pushup Rocket launcher swag bitch, see how I’m propelling ya’ll Taking over everything, I’m tired of telling ya’ll Why you always talk, could give a fuck what niggas chat bout Keep applying the pressure until you niggas tap out Now pass out [Chorus: Busta Rhymes] I tried to tell a nigga chill Call him David, put the mess in the mada Copperfield For real, niggas know the drill Mommy on that molly while she pop another pill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, tell that bitch to chill For real, nigga better chill And if they don’t, just line em up It’s perfect timin for the kill