Thug Poet

[Intro: Kobe Bryant]

Uh

Uh huh

You know what this is

I'mma let 'em run around one more time

I drop sumpin' on y'all

It's like... it's like

What's it like?

[Verse 1: Kobe Bryant]

My microphones and Glock nines

Black? I'm dipped in that

The beats, my mash, jam you for the platinum you have

Run it, the illest, watch me become it

I'm here, and took it bowling, like straight to the wig

Speak truth like kids, tell you what you don't know

Kobe? Yeah, he's real with the flow

Kick in the do' wavin' the flow-flow

All you heard was stop, can't take the hits no more

Ha, didn't know I had your block on SWAT?

I'm CIA, y'all nuttin' but beat cops

I rock like my ma's mean, name is cocaine

Place you on my A-fiend list and pay you 'cane

Think you can handle? Not get stripped when you rock?

Think again, you find you lost your mind and judgement

My confidence, springs from watching y'all fall

Aw, forced to hustle, rap ain't y'all?

I'mma hop in your brain, tell you whatchu thinkin'

Yes, I am speakin', but I ain't writin'

So cold, I put the ice in nicest

You too broke to pay attention

My style is priceless

[Chorus: Kobe Bryant and Nas]

If you say murder that means I'm a Thug Poet

If I say my mind kills that means I'm a Thug Poet

If I say that I'm a flock that means I'm a Thug Poet

And when I lay it down, it makes me a Thug Poet

[Verse 2: Broady Boy]

Thank the dudes for the gangs and tanks of booze

Shanks and twos, it's the gangstas, Langston Hughes

My poems' about broken homes and Jesus pieces

Dope is the Popes in Rome

Poetical field, thug overtone, it's like what, yo?

Bring it home, we both could bone

Pre-cord thought flow in the sober zone

My life style, chromosomes frost, hope to clone

The crack lust, black dust, and the gat bust

The claps, the lackluster, memoirs of the black hustler

Condos, Beemers, bomb hoes, coke bags, toe tags, John Does

Fiends skits them into the plane of day, as plain as day

It's hard to reach, to smell God anyway

Money, think backdrop payin' gray?

Man, rubber-gripped on that rainy day

Peep the way I came to play

One aim at the game, reign and stay

Every stain is straight from objective, insane

'Ey just don't know, I'm two ticks from blowing a hole through music

But I'm more than pimp-whoring him for the street wise

You met the ren

Cuz I open 'neath in the weed, hydrogen

Jam my eyes to skin, guide some of our wisest men

Until the skies of sin

I pray for the day we see you rise again

Uh

[Chorus: Nas and Broady Boy]

Thug Poet Street analyst is this, the

Thug Poet Hustlers bang out to

Thug Poet Flows for your block, Hip-Hop

Thug Poet

Thug Poet

[Verse 3: 50 Cent]

Aiyyo, everybody know 50 ain't know how to act

I run up on cats with gats and aluminum bats

Y'all got fat while we starved, it's my turn

Shit, I done felt how a slug burned, I still won't learn

Niggas in the 'hood a-tell ya "50 crazy"

I had your moms screamin' "They done shot my baby"

Son, I yap your shine, I clap the nine, I slap you

I'm not one of them niggas you wanna fuck with

I spit the shit that make ya keep listenin'

Keep my wrists glistenin'

I left niggas alone and they still think I'm dissin' 'em

I'm on some new shit, S-Type baby blue shit

Niggas talk behind my back but don't do shit

I ain't looking for love, duke, I'm looking for respect

I leave you with options, like die or hit the deck

I'm a thug poet, you know what I came for, the dough

Clap-clap, y'all niggas get the fuck on the floor, floor

[Outro: Nas] (Echoes to fade)

Thug Poet