Lyrics Sean Price – John Gotti (Philly Blunt Remix)
Text:
Sean Price:
Yeah
Outlandish, I brandish the weapon of mass
Destruction, I cut ’em, I’m bustin’ yo’ ass
Sylvester, still wreck you, fuck’s this trash? (Woo)
I’m Sean Price (Price) and the price is millions
Gang-raid mother, the soul of a thousand children
Half God body, other half Rob Zombie
Lift chrome, gets dissed on like I’m John Gotti
Investin’ in chrome, Sylvester Stallone
First blood, the first slug rest in ya dome
Uh, the man stunt with the God step
I’m old school like manhuntin’ the projects
Believe it, dude
Undisputable bars, you far from believable
I epitomize thuggy
Then dignify sky-rise that signified Bugsy
Reef The Lost Cauze:
When you died, the whole corner wept
Love to your kids, strength and respect to Bernadette
I thank you for your earned respect
And every time we rhyme it’s like you returned from death
A don like Gotti
Rappers ain’t got no job like Tommy
You Dragonfly Jones, tryna do karate
I’ll pop the shotty, send shots through your body
Huh, Bam Bam Bigelow
Your girl pay me for dick, American Gigolo
Bring the beef and the triggers blow
You a rat that’ll sing like Lil’ Mo
Philly shit, Doc J, Moses Malone and Little Mo
Mo Cheeks, Small Pro, dope beats
Sean P, forever may your soul find peace
Curly Castro:
Smokes to ashes, ashes to dust
I’ll whack a wack rapper with an elephant tusk
One blood, too cold, in Sean that we trust
Might earn no half, sure to measure it up
Team cookin’ up crack, too short with the pump
How the cops get the tape? Chauncey chewin’ on guns
Pay your monkey ass late, I’ll fill you with slugs
Soul rebel, assassin, I’m chillin’ with Muggs
Elmer Fudd below the Mason, we’re erasin’ some bugs
Shown by KMD how black bastards are loved
Throwin’ back tear gas with my Warsaw mass
Face-to-face, riot gear and obsidian gloves
I’m the kid in the lobby tryna John Gotti
Usin’ all the chaos to pickpocket the fuzz
While The Don held court and the Teflon stood
Cops throw they hammer shots to Russia with love
Zilla Rocca:
Ooh-wee, yes I’m a hell of a guy
The world was always mine, fly pelican, fly
Joyridin’ in the whip that we borrowed from the body shop
Biters get the backhand, finger jab, karate chop
You dealin’ with some moon-night marauders
Black moons ain’t baggin’ out the flyin’ saucer
White mask covers the face, black tape covers the jake
The smuggler is covered in haze, but um
The bourbon general, you just a maker’s mark
We don’t need a camera phone to get your face enlarged
Rappin’ is fun, the rat race is hard
That’s why the suicide king is your favorite card
I don’t believe in God, that shit is superstition
And you just paid your bookie with your kid’s tuition
Don’t upload your music, man, who would listen?
‘Cause you couldn’t lace a beat like shoes in prison
