The Pit Lyrics

J.R. Writer:
Holla
No sorrow, haze wrapped in a Tahoe
For all those who saw J smash the Apollo yikes
All covered in ice like I was standing in Times Square
On "The Day After Tomorrow" holla
I'm into bigger dough, sicker flow
Rocky dial (what) make it possible to Rocky-bow hit your hoe
I feel like Bigelow 'cause ever since I got the chirp number
All I been hearing was bleep like the Springer show
I got Poppa Al money you got pocket-style money (money)
Doggie, these maurie's, try a thou' dunny
Girl's dropping wild for me
Soon as I step in, and want to grab on the gator like Crocodile Dundee
See I'm the worst round, you'll hit the dirt ground
I surf towns in Jaguars that's dirt brown
I know it hurt clown, to see me laid in a suite
Under sheets, stuffed with more feathers than a First Down
Comfortable

Hell Rell:
Yo
I copped a couple K's for the beef when it goes down
I told niggaz that they couldn't eat in they own town
Fuck off the strip, 'fore I bust off a clip
My time is money I got to get the fuck off this brick
Follow me around and we'll see the life of a hustler
Follow you around and we'll see the life of a buster
Beat down, smacked up, robbed every minute
And my soldiers, they treat me like I'm God every minute
Hot as a fuck, but don't get acknowledged enough
This is grade-A piff you got garbage to puff
And when it come to my rocks get it polished and buffedJ.R. Writer - The Pit - http://motolyrics.com/jr-writer/the-pit-lyrics.html
Same thing with your girl I get polished and buffed
A few bricks on the table, I'm smoking by the pound
If I don't blow I'm on the next thing smoking out of town
I'm sitting on grenades, I'm sitting on some blades
Yay, flip it, suede fitted sitting on my braids
Nigga I got gats to tuck and Cadillac the truck
I deal with mathematics homeboy and you ain't adding up
Two plus two don't equal five
I eat the truth but feed you lies you bitch nigga
And I ain't ask to come through, man I'm barging out
From now on you address me as the Hardest Out

40. Cal:
I'm the kid from 140 babe
40 making all the cake
My dope like tsunami, I kill 'em off a water weight
You play 50 get your story straight
Niggaz up in 50 minus 2, that's ya number due, the 48
Well do the math, the nigga's a problem
You broke, ya dead broke when I kill 'em and rob 'em
40, niggaz think they can call shots.
Y'all ain't got no wins you lost hair like a bald spot
You want the Tupac Shakur props?
But it's like a disease now 'cause all y'all got is smallpox
And that's off top at ya door with 4 knocks
40 catch vicks in they halls like coughdrops
Porsche box, school you how to sell the coke-a
'Cause "Diplomat" without the "t" spells diploma
Tryna, tell you doja, the flame in ya ass
The game in a smash, 40 keep his name in a stash
You the type to go to jail, turn ya name to Shebezz
I'm a menace, the O-Dog with the 'caine on the ave
40