Hell Rell: Hell Rell is in the muthafuckin' building (Move over) Dipset bitch Haha, okay, ride wit' me Purple City, Harlem stand up Oh the BX is under my deodorant (fa' sho') Weeks Ave I see you
Verse 1 Hell Rell: When that Mac come out Your dude run run, your crew run run It's Hell muthafuckin' Rell and Mr. Two-Gun Un And this goes out to those who choose to use disrespectful views on the kid that carry Rugers The kid that be havin' jewelers deep-freezing his wrist Narc's came man, I was deep deep in a bitch And I'm stackin' off the hard (hard) You cats ain't on your job I wake like “Let's see, which rapper I'ma rob'
And they label me a troublemaker Cuz I'm a rider Death to all you fuck niggaz Don't let me find ya Sizzurp and Cristal got me grippin' this pistal Like everybody get down nigga Chi-chi-chi-bow-bow I'm the hardest regardless to all my charges Court cases is irrelevant I'm the shit and you smelling it How could you deny me, I'm spittin' true facts I really touch paper, not talkin' a few stacks These niggaz think they tough cuz they yell a few “Blaaatts' Or walk wit' a new bop, we got some new pots I see some 40 bigs, I blew off homie wig And run up in his house and kidnap his only kid And the gangstas that you look up to, look up to me (Yup) And all the hustlers in the kitchen man, they cook up to me That's why they standing over the stove as Hell Rell dumpin' (Yeah) And even up north I got the jail cells jumpin' Yeah
Hook: Purple City, Purple City Byrdgang Apocalypse Dip-Dip-Dipset bitch Purple City, Purple City Byrdgang Apocalypse Dip-Dip-Dipset bitch (Repeat)
Verse 2 Un Kasa: This for all my niggaz on the Weeks block That let the heat pop And they crew screwin' a bad bitch in the peach drop And down the block, they got the valves with the peach top And we got that fire to make the keys pop I'm like a young B.I.G., Rell like a teen Pac Mixed with some soldier slips Smokin' on some potent piff Scoop your baby-mother up, make her blow the dick While I'm blowing a spliff Y'all should know it's the kid They call me Kas' or Mr. Crayon Box Jump out the Coupe when the Tom crayon fox Jump out the Coupe, big chain, crayon rocks Jump out, red and blue guns, crayon Glocks We them niggaz, they are not This our block and we gon' rock Or we gon' pop like canons on the Fourth of July We get high, y'all get by Bitch niggaz get extorted for pie Pass them birds or it's off wit' your life Your mother, your daughter, your niece Now they life is up for a price
Hook:
Verse 3 Smoke-N-Numbers: Fuckin' clown, come through wit' your new jokes Numbers, pass me the bat, I'm feelin' like pool host [Chill, Dizzie relax, these niggaz get too close Pull the Ruger, poof, I'm a shooter like Kool Coach] Them F-U boys run around strapped while [We smack ‘em ‘round] Back a nigga down Shaq style [Homie we just better than the rest Berettas and the Techs in the lever We the letter after F] Nigga soft as Snuggle, by night he buff Internet gangstas [Soundboard thugs] (Yeah) ‘Round town niggaz serve them things Got water in all sizes like Poland Spring [Listen homie, why you act like you squeeze guns When you a Big Mac when the beef comes Successfully see ones] Straight under, and I don't who was ambulance Smoke-N-Numbers, Undisputed Tag-Team Champions nigga
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