Artist: Fes Taylor Album: What I Got 2 Lose? Song: Return of the Great Typed by: Cno Evil [Fes Taylor] I shed a tear for my nigga Why, then I looked up toward the cloud Seen my nigga B-Ghost in the sky Plus Spider-Man took a shank in his neck, me, myself? I even been face to face with death But yo, nothing hurt me more then when they took away flex Treat 'em like they owe me money, son, ya'll gon' pay debts Like, eye for an eye, this is the revenge Fuck a drive-by, age back seat in the syringe Hope you die slow, homeboy screaming for the five-oh Save us like 'no way', ambulance drive though Dead on arrival, if you my rival If I ain't killed you, I tried to, admit I lied to Judge Brendon to his face, for my niggas I cock it and send it through his face, still pending a case Still winning a race, cover your face, invisible take Make sure you niggas see a miserable fate It's the great when I spit on a take, Fes Taylor on a CD When you see me, I'm the same fucking way This is real hip hop, for the Killah Hill block Make the world bop, like girls giving head wop I ain't here to battle nobody, cuz none of ya'll Can fuck with me, trust me, I have your favorite rapper ducking me A million and nine months, ya'll rappers been slipping For too long, now your time's up, you can find us Park Hill, by the four building, grinding it up More drama, firing squad, lining 'em up Laying 'em down, it's amazing, what paper do now Have niggas you grew up with, hating your style I tried to show 'em how to stack a couple in the bank, instead of thanks You turn your back, they bang you with shanks We can all get rich together, if we stick together Buy cribs, cop whips together, shit You went to jail together, made sales together Got bagged, made bail together It's like, either we succeed or we fail together Celebrate, drink ale together, yo This is for my homies, word life, I do this for you Ain't a thing in this world I wouldn't do for my crew Son, I love my hood, I blaze my block, cuz it Raise me good, to give what I got Even though I had to pitch rock, dip from the cops On the run from the police, sleeping in different spots Hope my team get bagged, you hating, snitch, the lab get raided We too smart, son, the lab is baking They already caught 'em slipping when they ran in 3W Wild West Wolves, three times W Meet Two 4 War, more like a warlord Run up on your four door, with a shot full of golf balls '93 Halloween, running with X-Factor 2004, one of the Wolfpackers Still packing them hammers, but I ain't trynna Let 'em throw me back in the slammer, I act in a manner Was more civilized back in the Atlanta Guess it's the city, kind of like I'm rapping on camera All hyped up, when I got a mic in my clutch In studio booth, tough, lighting a dutch Like a dope fiend, hiking a rush, fans screaming my name I've returned, they glad that I came