I’m Home lyrics

[Verse 1]
In your ear like a Q-tip
On it like a phone
n*ggas talk that sh*t like I wasn't coming home
It wasn't about me
If it was I woulda aired y'all n*ggas out the same day that I got out
But just to talk slick
And make n*ggas sick, suck di*k if you a n*gga to doubt me
Yeah, let me talk slow with 'em
I don't get dough with 'em I collect four hit 'em
Nah, you ain't a hombre of mine
Surprised to see me hop out a Hyundai with nines
Hustle so hard in the hood so much that n*ggas call me up to remind me I rhyme
sh*t is haywire and you wanna play sides
When it's so much gunfire that n*ggas going blind
Nah, I don't feel you n*gga
And it won't be long 'fore I peel you n*gga

[Verse 2]
I don't wanna kill you
I just want you paralyzed
f*cking up your spine so you can take time to analyze
Wrong one to f*ck with is P
You don't wanna duck, it's gonna hit your head and then touch your knee
Can't y'all see that we different kind of n*ggas
Y'all the rappers with cops, we the rappers with killers
Got to be under the ground to understand it
And I put you under the dirt when I shoot underhanded
Now I'm back on my grind like I'm f*cked up
Truth is I'm couped out, sedan'd out and trucked up
Yeah, and it's a lot of n*ggas mad at me
But I got knifework and they don't wanna stab at me
And I'm good with a pistol
Probably got the same one that that cop with you issued
I say what I do, and I do what I say
So when you hear me pop sh*t, b*tch, it's official
[Verse 3]
New York city is grittiest
Y'all n*ggas wanna be the prettiest
Can't be serious
My attitude's the sh*ttiest
Flow still hideous
Tryna make you bleed like a chick on her period
Had to switch my style up
Feds on my back had to switch my vials up
n*ggas got my flow like I'm selling it
I don't know these n*ggas from a can of paint, this sh*t is irrelevant
Matter of fact I would call it inappropriate
You wasn't an associate
You ain't have a chair at the table when I was down in Chinatown getting opium
You ain't a gangster like me
A n*gga owe cash you ain't f*cking breaking ankles like me
Who am I?
Ghost or the G-Host, host of the G's
n*gga in the hood squeezing toast at the D's
New York I'm responsible for most of the P's