Courtesy

Yo, where the other one at?
 I like this one
 Just let it go, Preem
 Z06 'Vette, grippin', feelin' almost there
 Listenin' to Bon Jovi, rollin' "Livin' on a Prayer"
 Privy to the gossip that's been said about me constant
 It's the life and times of "Bumpy" Johnson meets "Nucky" Thompson
 I used to rap about death, now I'm only concerned to live
 I value relationships, still I keep it competitive
 Nowadays, chances are that if you see me throw the match
 It ain't to lose the fight, it's to walk away from a burnin' bridge
 I'm from a family of alcoholics and coke addicts
 Daddy taught me if the ass is so fat
 It's a fact that if you with your ho, don't matter
 It's still appropriate to scope at it
 Livin' life with no balance
 Drivin' drunk on co-pilot, drivin' 'til I total it
 I'm tryna stay afloat, but I got nobody to throw a rope at it
 The game is just a game of splits and politics wit' no ballot
 All kind of clips with mo' malice than pushin'
 If you profilin', there'll probably be more violence than lookin'
 I'm so stylish, but I ain't talkin' eBay, no high-end fashion either
 If you catch me by the runway, it's the one that's for the PJ
 This one is for my lyricists, courtesy of my DJ
 (I can't control it, can't hold it, it's so nuts)
 (Hustle hard in any hustle that you pick)
 (I, I, I respect that)
 I done had a lot of niggas say they wanna hurt me
 Somehow, some way they just end up at my mercy
 Just show some courtesy
 (Hell yeah, nigga, you know, and niggas still got it)
 (Believe that shit)
 I got killers 'round the way, ready to move that work for me
 Niggas wanna ride my wave, bitches wanna surfboard me
 All I want is courtesy, who cares 'bout the radio?
 And you could take the cassette deck from off of your old boombox
 And it wouldn't matter, there's still squares on your radio
 To keep your wealth, I learned to stay to yo'self
 I call for Charl, tell him spray paint a mural in Watts
 Of me spray-paintin' a mural of Miracle Watts
 Shout-out to Michael "5000" Watts
 I'm on that lean movement like I'm out here tryna box
 Look, nigga, this is a boss thing, uh
 Meanin' you gettin' the laze' dot to your offspring
 I'm a lost bein', uh
 Try to cross me without fallin' off, I'm afraid not
 I'm a frayed knot like a draw string
 I'm preachin' to the congregation like I'm Peter Popoff
 If you can imagine me hopping up out of the cabin
 Like I'm one of the dukes of Hazzard like, "Fuck it"
 Leave the top off like time for foreplay
 That last line that was before your time
 Like Big Ben sittin' in Beyoncé doorway
 While I'm receivin' Four Seasons, Norwegian top in Norway
 Listenin' to rappers kick knowledge
 That they probably got from Touré
 These Michael Eric Dyson niggas claiming they king
 Not knowing the kind of drama that that bring
 I'ma be the first established rapper to hop in that battle rap ring
 Turn that to Gatlin'
 My next album gon' be so dark and so fly
 I should see the package, it wrapped in batwings
 These Soul Train Music Award actors rock fake as wrestlin'
 Dressed bottom to top in leather lookin' like bacon in Vaseline
 How you looking like beef jerky?
 Beefin' in every verse, but never beefin' in person?
 Randy Savage, you wouldn't snap a Slim Jim
 You wouldn't rip a wrappin' on Christmas in Santa's attic
 Wit' the hands of Eddie Scissors and you average
 Put your motherfuckin' hands up
 My job is to move the crowd, move the motherfuckin' crowd
 Put your motherfuckin' hands up
 I respect that
 PRhyme