Songtext zu 'The Rat Pack (feat. Maylay & Roscoe)' von King Tee

Who is it? (Yo, my name is King Tee)
Are you ready, muthafucka? (I'm ready!)
(Let's get together and bring on the indubitably soulful)
Oh, I made a mistake, errors like these must be handled smoothly
This is the mark of a professional

All rise for the most honorable!
I salute! One of the G's in this West Coast rap shit!
All stand for my muthafuckin', say his name!
King Tee, what's crackin'?

The scene sets in the smoke filled room
And all the rottweilers hollerin' at the Moon
Someone's comin', why they carry diamonds on his jewels?
The Rebirth of the Cool
Finally resurrected with the game of life profected
The strain on my voice get sloiced on the record transmittin'
That n*gga takes a blow and keeps tickin'
The hot pimpin', ballin' n*gga from the licks and
Now, listen, if you frontin' back in your Coup
Rollin' round yo' neighborhood, finna hit the loop
Just react, throw yo' neighborhood like that
Whoever said trip gets stripped off the map
Take precautions when you at that light
Lungs coughin' off the herb, mackin' at them hoes on the curb
Bump this! Now you're feelin' bossed up, ain't ya?
My name is King Tee, I'd like to introduce you to some fuckin

Low ridin', West Coast ridin'
Next up, the West nics comin'
Maylay, what's crackin' nigga?

I ain't got time for groups and cahoots with the shenanigans
My troops shootin', blow your roof with the cannons, man
Damagin' like the doctor say when examinin'
Notifies next of kin and all they bandana friends
Ol' E and Hennessy, not Cristal sippin'
That's for all the G's I be pistol spittin'
Mental gettin' like sit down, listen
Raised 'round niggas from the big house, prison
So I'm intended in when observin' the businesses
And the difference is I ain't lookin' suspicious to the witnesses
Elite in the streets keep me free from sentences
'Bout my E and G's and leanin' in with the emphasis
Keep my drift, keep that bullsh*t from 'round me
Really with it and did it, that's full in the County
Jumped bail with the quickness that I pull from the bounties
I was hood when they found me, that's West Coast shit

Low, low shit
Stuck 'em wit it, buck 'em wit it, ain't nobody fuckin' wit it
Crips, Bloods, Vatos
Make way for my lil nigga, Roscoe!

Bringin' destruction, chaotic, melodic structure
Product of pure eruption and corrupt production
Me! Hard to the pack and sharp as a tack
And needles, syringes are poison, just some weed in the Pen'
Henny and Jack to bring a little memory back
Semis and Macs, the reason all my enemies scat
My big homie Crazy Toones told me, speak from within
And let these pus*y muthaf*ckas get a dose of my rage
As if I cut my wrists open and let 'em drip on the page
I be like in every single lyric I say
I be so scientifically accurate with my literature
Precision is very necessary in my position
West Coast custom music, presidential
From the inner city slums to the residentials
Check my rep-adentials, nigga, we countin'?
Rhyme essentials, Vietnam sentinels