Don't Be Scared - Styles P, The Bull Pen

If I say so myself, we the best

When the lead pop, it’s headshots, you don’t need a vest

D-Block, LOX, we don’t see the rest

My blade cut a thousand niggas, that’s a key of flesh

You either (-) or (-) squeeze the TECs

I blow a smoke with the Ghost, bars speakin' death

I keep her wet, straight cash, yo, I’m 'bout paper

Pay (-) bars, every line another (-)

Bullpen style, kill you now, rhyme later

I clip from a block away, nine with the laser

They can hate us, but they know they can’t never play us

We heat-sprayers, plus you know the streets made us

Live life to the fullest because death is waitin'

Too wild of an animal for domesticatin'

Get a room full of rabbits and I’m defecatin'

Fully-loaded gun, no hesitatin'

I heard your gangsta rapper name resonatin'

We don’t believe you, you’ll never make it

Discipline — the term meant dedicated

Educated, actin' on medicated

Weed high, liquor high, drug dealers, stick-up guys

LOX, Wise Guys Enterprise

You ain’t got to cop it, we got you, you could rent a pie

God, forgive me for contributin' in genocide

The cranberry Beamer, MAC-10 and the nina

Smokin', visions of Mecca and Madīnah

Mobster, kill you, send a fixer and a cleaner

You look scared, lil' nigga

Don’t start hangin' 'round here, lil' nigga

This shit’ll get you the chair, lil' nigga

We makin' ourself clear, lil' nigga

Nigga, we in here, it’s me and (-), lodge 'em out the bullpen

Remember gettin' processed, sittin' in that bullpen

Thinkin' to myself, 'If niggas rattin' and some bullshit

I’m comin' home dumpin' out that clappin'-up-your-hood shit'

I had dreams of gettin' hood rich

This year, approachin' six figures, life good, bitch

And I admit, yeah, I love fuckin' a hood bitch

Give her good dick, she ridin' out with that wood grip

The front page of them tabloids

About paper, known for movin' grams and mad toys

Real nigga never back down, quit the fight

I lose, I’m like (-) when he told (-), 'Hit the lights'

Speak the truth, know these frontin' niggas can’t stand facts

Pops taught me Santa Clause wore a Klansman’s hat

And he rolled through the night like the Klu Klux

So I flipped Os of the white for a few bucks

Yeah, I guess I see what they can’t

Do what they won’t, then have what they don’t

Ride to work raw, where the work, y’all, I sit and curse, y’all

Lodge the bullpens, Clayton Kershaw

Lookouts in the buildin', play the first floor

Yeah, it’s D-Block, nigga, we come with the pain

Gonna cause straightjackets and shackles and chains

If it’s drama, come and get you, ain’t callin' your name

We roll up on you like them niggas that howl in pain