Papoose Here Comes The Pain (feat. Sheek Louch) (Produced by EP) Lyrics

No metaphors, just a four-four
One beretta for
The hotel door
I'm tryin to score, yall'll fall
It's the way of the gun
I lay on the green
I shoot for four and put a hole in one
It's all studio talk, that's a video walk
Most of these lil n____z don't come out in new york
You know dag-on-it
To make it hot you betta put sheek or pap on it
We could scrap on it
Pull out the duffel with the taped up mac on it
Muhfukkas know my bars, feel my scars
I ain't rich, you barely hear me talk about some cars
Muhfukka I got one range, one coupe, house upstate
Muhfukka and I'm still in the loop
Couple hundred thou
No millions yet but I still hold it down
Support n____z on trial
Try to be grown up but my boxers still show
Talk about crack they say you ain't Fat Joe
So I talk about guns and the street s___ I know
And I ain't just see it homie, I became the gun
I popped off once and said god daym that's fun
Now this ain't something I'll pass to my son
But if he ain't got one that's the only time they'll run
It's D-block n____ you know what we about
Still gettin that money, still d___ in your mouth
I said it's D-block n____ you know what we about
Still gettin that money, still d___ in your mouth

Papoose, Pa-poose
Lotta these rappers startin to urk me
I thought thanksgivin was over
Why the f___ I'm surrounded by all these turkeys?
Raw like Big Daddy Kane and Eddie Murphy
They prayin they can murk me
It feels like they comin for my head but they needa be comin for my body
Cuz that's where I carry the black Marx berg shotty
Who you think you is? You think you John Gotti?
Well n____ I'm cancer death is my hobby
Who you 'posed to be? Joe Pesci sucker?
I'm the n____ with the bet, you and your f___in brother
Who you think you is, Tony Montana?
Well I'm the n____s with black shades and the hammer
And who you 'posed to be, superman? aight
Well I'm the bad guy here come the kryptonite
Flow treacherous
I spit pain on those records
And you enjoyed it because my pain is your pleasure
Most masterful messenger
Speak the most methods
Don't threaten the messenger just accept your message
No substance, no presence, they so pressured
It's so reckless rappers is buyin they own records
True school graduate, you in the lower grade
And you keep blockin the sun, you throwin shade
My dough is made, them other dudes is overpaid
I'm so hot I blow up the spot with no grenade
When I step in each booth
I let em' see proof
Eat you sweet n____s up, I got a sweet tooth
But to teach is a must, I gotta reach youth
So I seek to discuss philosophy and truth
Broccoli and beef boots, you just a weak fluke
Reach in my Gino Green goose, and let the thing loose
Cops chased me in the buildin they never seen Juice
Run to the top floor and jump across each roof
You don't keep it street, duke
You can't beat poose
Nicer then 5 soloists, 10 duos, and 3 groups
They better regroup
Battery dead need a boost
I'm deeper then deep couch
When featurin Sheek Louch
Catch you on your peeps stoup
Hit him with the heat, oops
I eat em' like sweet fruit
All on em' like cheap suits
Bury em' like deep roots
Then flee in the green coupe
Retreat when he shoot
Speedin up kicks then a troop
I'm makin em' recruit
Cnotes like 3 flutes
Bet you 1.5 I'm eager to beat the deuce
Beast from the east duke
I think when the beats loop
Most metaphoric, I never forfeit
Papoose