The Last Song Pt. 2 lyrics

[Intro: Big Tone]
Yeah
[?] this one, can't go [?]
This how we do!
Tone, let's go!

[Verse 1: Big Tone]
Imagine what it took, scrambling with crooks
Writing raps with a crack [?] cooked in the hood
I took the D and trapped in a book, gave rap a different look
Graphic as it looks, Casper's getting shocked, shaken
Lottery pick, first take I Lebron James it
Do a track, write a rap, and spit a hook dangerous
Coppers laugh, Bring It Back and get it cooked Famous
This crook language (Yeah) My slang is praised
But 'em [butch masters bust?] daily
And bad boys follow my lead, I'm Chuck Daly, but I can bust Baileys
What or ifs ands, I sit back with 'em big cats, brick slabbed
In the six cab, slipped past
And this cat with the big swagger, George Jefferson stеpping
Call Hart, Kev with a weapon, repping
Wastе a youth and still connect with 7...Mile
The Ol' English "D", I rep my session proud
Money over hoes, money know the ropes
And know it's role, tryna get money is a money overdose
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah
[Refrain: 87]
Oh 7, Oh 7, Oh

[Verse 2: 87]
Excuse me lady it's your boy young 80
Nope I don't trick, uh uh, not Jay-Z
Nah slow up b*tch I'm not him
I spit a hood at [?] you a rap soft rim
I cut coke with such precession
Bust 'em like Martha Stewart up in the kitchen
Tote big cannons that'll stop your living
This is how I was raised, p*ssed-poor without a pot to p*ss in
Rob your ass like "Thank's for giving" (Very much)
Throw up a peace sign like "Save The Children"
Had a nice lil run, now your reign is over
Catch you at a light and snatch you out your Rover
What the f*ck you fronting for n*gga, you ain't no soilder
Detroit n*ggas got big guns [?]
So please believe that we was after the cheese dawg
After the dough we was after the skrilla, police in 5 states still after this n*gga
Disease of this rap sh*t, I'm cancerous n*gga
Somebody calm me down before I cancel this n*gga

[Verse 3: Remember]
Yo Big Jewels, is ill sh*t that I done is all paid off
n*gga's shoes ain't big enough to fill prints when I step off
A house and many things was bumping in cash that I made all
Chosen videos, baby in Vogue 'cause I came off
Remember [?] a smirk on my face when I let off
Know this sh*t is heated, scatter your brains like a sawed off
n*ggas fight like a [?] waiting for the stars set off
You're wrong, f*ck with me and poss' and your flesh'll get blowed off
For real, y'all rowdy handling things when it pop off
Body bags, I be fed, sh*tting in bags 'cause he showed off
While he's waiting anxiously for n*ggas like me to get dropped off
His store's at Sam Goody's [?] n*ggas yell "Back off!"
A born star, platinum hits is the sh*t that I eat off
[?] that's what I live off
Lifestyle is rude, embarrass a n*gga, say "f*ck off!"
Y'all better get this di*k [or dunk on the stage and got throwned up?]
[Verse 4: Lo Louis]
Big fella we will squash your ass
[?] with the Monster Mash
You get chopped in half then plopped in bags
Put out on the curb with the rest of the trash
Just ask for them n*ggas in the Cartier glasses
Not the ones twisted up with the [balls/bars?] all backwards
But the ones tinted up rubbing my eyelashes
Giving girls hot flashes fast, that's how we get 'em
Cartier I wear with diamonds in 'em
The finest women, I'm just tryna jizzle 'em
No time for wine and dining with 'em
I just knew this day would come from day 1
When I was young I used to have big dreams
One day I'd be a big fella doing big things
Lo Louis, and if you got a problem with you
I got something that'll shut up the critics, y'all can get it

[Verse 5: Guilty Simpson]
I tote Mac 10s, ‘cause I’m like Parcels
Man I need that win but I don’t need that [?]
I remember Beat Street watching Lee backspin
Now the year’s '04, and Detroit back, in affect
On a Friday, I take your check
On the highway, I race your 'Vet
Do what I say or pay direct
I even cruise by your video and spray your set
And murder the extras with an all black Heckler
Man, I’m pro-gun and a pro-fessional when I choose to hold one
Man, screw your verses, this Russian roulette
With automatic guns, guy you go first
I’m large like a sumo shirt
Fed up with you pseudo-j*rks that don’t do no work
And while you in your little circle sayin’ rhymes
Don’t ask me to spit, ‘cause I ain’t got time! What!
[Refrain: Marv Won]
Jewels! Jewels!
The sh*t was nice man but it was missing one thing
It was missing Marv Won from The World-Famous Fat Killahz (b*tch shut up)
That's all you need, that's all you need! ('Fore I kill you n*gga)
...And about 4 other n*ggas (I'm gangsta)
But me? But me?
I gotta be on this b*tch
That's what I do n*gga (Fat Killahz n*gga)

[Verse 6: Marv Won]
Yeah I keep a Smith & Wesson lick TEC and steel
So when I say I got a contract for you I ain't talking 'bout a record deal
Man I'm talking about that paper that'll get you killed
With n*ggas in my hood trying to bring me home your neck and grill
Peep game, these thangs release flames
Leak your brains, leave your ass deceased mane
No questions with a gun I'm so [Heston?]
I'm a star man, I should've been on pro wrestling
Any thug you know, please go get them!
So I can blow they asses into space like George Jetson
Or Captain Kirk, these gat's squirt
I'll clap a j*rk, introduce his back to dirt
f*ck you trying to fight? You can die tonight
I been here before, I used to be Willie Dynamite
Marvin Won, the n*gga you quoting
And the reason your ass is sleeping with one eye open, b*tch

[Refrain: Proof]
I'm used to being with players that be on the real battlefield
So f*ck with y'all n*ggas, come home Jewels

[Verse 7: Proof]
Ayo it's Proof b*tch, rush you like Bruce Smith
Bust through your crew and smack them loose lips (b*tch!)
You see me in the club then you walk out quick sir!
Always won and Marshall Faulk ass n*gga
You the type to make hits and get di*k by Suge
When I'm in zone, I shuffle in your face like Ickey Woods
Everything about you weak, get your body beat
And sit your sorry ass on the side with Rodney P
You not as sweet as you think, with the boring raps
I run through your weak ass lines, I'm Warren Sapp
You sound like Al Capone when you rap, oh you love movies
b*tch I be in the game for a while like Doug Flutie
Or Testaverde muthaf*cka I bless you early
Nothing to do with a [migraine/Mike Green?] when I hit your chest with 30
My mere presence will make your sweat you hard
'Cause my firearm known to throw bullets like Brett Favre, muthaf*cka

[Refrain: Proof & Ty Farris]
Ayo it's like this [?] y'all n*ggas playing [?] in 2004
Me and my I.F. n*ggas [?] in 2004, right (They mad!)
[?] trying to get this muthaf*cking cream n*gga [?]

[Verse 8: Ty Farris]
Listen when that pistol blow
It'll kiss you like you under a mistletoe, pop your 'til your gristle show
It's nothing 'cause my gun game is crazed
It ain't a hairstyle when that pump in your waves, listen
Know the procedure when I run up on you clowns
Put your hands up, like referees after touchdowns
Come on your block with guns and start squeezing
So many bloody shirts it'll look like a Blood meeting
There's 4 options if I beef with a n*gga
Coffin, casket, urn or the bottom of a river
I love when Nas but when that chrome spark
It'll shoot the guts out of any Braveheart, come on
I spill like a dart in dark with no heart
And my gun full of sh*t, in your face where it fart, listen
You don't want part, you know you ain't thug
The only time you hard when you leave out of titty club, muthaf*ckas

[Refrain: Ty Farris & Mu]
Yeah, Purple Gang
Yo, whatupdoe

[Verse 9: Mu]
What in the world would possess you to test Mu?
When I’m done, I’ll make you say I’m the wrong n*gga to step to
I come to your job and molest you, wanna bet? You
The only reason you rhyming right now is because I let you
Wanna win? You got better chances winnin’ the lotto’
‘Cause your rhymes ain't worth the [?] prize off of a pop bottle (b*tch!)
I took your confidence when you first came in
I beat your ass while surfing in the middle of a hang ten
You can’t win! How many different ways I have to say that sh*t in?
Known for bone breakin’ before Satan committed a sin
Battlin’ me is worse than going to the pen with your hands taped to your shins
With a note sayin’ hours are from now until then, listen
I gives a damn if you rhyme decent
Give me one reason I turn you [deep?] into a self destruct sequence, see
You the type of n*gga to talk sh*t about me
But you probably couldn’t sell one unit on a double LP
Rappin’ about the money ‘cause your friends are wealthy
Not saying I know, but they tell me your live show is L.D
So keep my name outta your mouth
And stay the f*ck from the front of my house, before I blow your sh*t out, b*tch!

[Verse 10: Journalist 103]
I'm on the whole 'nother level before you try to step to this
Detroit All-Start you best make a deal with the devil
Because I ain't spitting nothing but flammable gasses
With a mixture of lava and a pitcher of battery acid
I'm a lyrical dragon so f*ck when I fly through
I'm merciless with them hot lines, that's how I scorch you
n*gga be for real
The Animalz have entered the building with a prime objective, with nothing to kill
You lack lyrical skill
I put you on the same plane as a fat chick, something I refuse to feel
So f*ck getting a deal, you really need an alternative
Before my alter ego kicks in and beats you merciless