Sage or Gunsmoke

[Verse 1: Rome Streetz]

Really ain't no comp' in this shit, these niggas miniature

Miniscule, murder when the god pen the literature

Now everything lit, the scripture bringin' expenditure

Fuck a fraction of the fortune, I need the integer

Ladies got no love for a loser, they let the winner fuck

Only money-makin' maneuvers, I'm out to get a buck

Worlds weighed on my shoulder like Lex Luger finisher

But I feel no pressure at all, look how I lift it up

No square bids for the cash, I had to tour for work

I heard your new shit trash, you're getting worse and worse (garbage!)

Jehovah witness me bad, satan in front the church

Tie him up, throw his ass in back of the hearse

Aim and knock your head off every time that I rap a verse

I leveled up, you wanna work, pay double

Yeah my rap is like graffiti in a subway tunnel

Ghetto art depictin' thugs, you know the drugs they juggle

From where haters were disguisin', tryna front they love you

Look you eye to eye, then they backstab when they hug you

This shit cutthroat, what can protect you, sage or gunsmoke?

Torah or the TEC, let it off if they offer disrespect

Not much of a talker, I'm at your neck

What you expect from a fly New Yorker?, I'm 'bout a check, nigga

[Verse 2: Ransom]

Yeah, I'm gon' die in these trenches

I'm from a different time, my auntie got high on these benches

She loved to sniff a line and then look to God for repentence

My bars in your mentions, I don't need to go hard for attention

I'm scarred with the tension, my brain is a Harvard invention

Dissected and looked upon as a diamond in presence

The Don with a vengeance, sent your soul to a dark dimension

Sent right to the gates of hell, procrastinate and get robbed by the entrance

Hand to hands go wrong in a dark alley, cold carry

Palmin' an arm longer than John Salley's

Wrong addy, bullets ain't got direction, you gone sadly

Ridin' shotgun, get you blown in your mom backseat

Most of y'all wasn't here for the crack era

Crack mirrors tryna cover a blemish in mascara

That's terror, tongue is a razorblade in a track severed

Wack never, Grim Reaper the streets in a black leather

Rap clever, took the time out for nothing, that's Webber

Track weather, hurricanes, tornadoes and bad tremors

Glass measures, Pyrex cook with a dirty burner

Thirty murders, death is never too late, I'm a early learner, nigga

Yeah, death is never too late, I'm a early learner, nigga