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