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Fes Taylor
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Rolla Costa
f/ Lot-a-Nerv
[Lot-a-Nerv]
Yo... T.G.P., that's my team
Steel gats, semi-automatic inf. beam
I ride on them bitch-ass niggaz, that's me
Cuz I got a Lot-a-N-E-R-V
You piss me, shots turn ya body to swiss cheese
You could get crippled 'fore you die like Chris Reeves
You real homeboy? Pop off
Just a letter pepper baby boy mo'fucka I'm hot sauce
You frauds don't pop for shit
You mighty plot, do not get ya shot, I deny ya bitch
Under now Kawasaki the strip
I'm the flyest in Versace, dry dick, now I could sucked from yo' bitch
Game mine, game over, I'm far from yo' fridge
When you juk with that revolver, let go six
You in that echo shit with direct roll six
It's '06, we on that '95 Death Row shit
[Chorus: Fes Taylor]
Life's like a rolla costa
Take a ride, either you fleein' or you holdin' toasters
Ups and downs, I fall off I could get back on
Find another block to flip that on, we comin' back around
Life's like a rolla costa
Take a ride, either you fleein' or you holdin' toasters
Ups and downs, I fall off I could get back on
Find another block to flip that on, comin' back around
[Fes Taylor]
You play cops and robbers, game choppers and choppers
Dock you with hoes, they wop us while they topless
You got pifs spit it, you got hits spin it
Now that I'm in it, glittered from my wrist to my fitted
Mention my critics, won't give a bad writer flip
That's how officers turn means to Fight Club
Kinda like that flick with Brad Pitt, watch that other shit
Wasn't impressed, I laughed when they spit
You get what you get fuckin' with the Milli kids
Wannabes, I'ma show these niggaz what it really is
Niggaz feel me, shit
Taylor's fish seen a couple for my deuce trap, reachin' for justice
Take a ride through the city of slums
Now my wiz got a Fendi with guns, stiffy in lungs
And now hoes bounce quickly to funds
They ask how I do it, I'm simply the one
It's Two and the Four, group from the showroom floor
See why they shut the doors, there's no room for no more
Wack-ass niggaz, I back-smack niggaz
Walk around the streets, fingers wrapped around triggers
RapCity lame now, son, now without Tigger
106, Julissa, now Free's ass was bigger
We could get hit up for my man gettin' sipped up
One shot, keep my gun cocked with the fifth tucked
Right in my pants, like ya label write in advance
I'm Staten Island what they writin' in advance
[Interlude: Fes Taylor]
We are the streets, nigga...
I don't care who said it first
Fuck it... Taylor said it
Co-sign my own shit, niggaz
Fuck y'all niggaz thought?
[Chorus to fade]
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