Artist: Heart Foundation
Album:  King of Hearts
Song:   Going Down
Typed by: Cno Evil

[Mr. Prezident]
From here on in, look, this is how we do things
What up, Staten Island? Ya'll can call us the new kings
Men do lames, sunk in the blue range
I'mma about a dollar buck, ya'll can keep the loose change
Could of split it up, but it wasn't big enough
Now niggas mad but, ask me if I give a fuck
I don't give a fuck, I bruise the beat
Lose ya feet, nigga, lose your seat

[Fes Taylor]
It's like they shot through my moms door, nigga, I palm four
You better calm yours, homey, it's beyond war
I did spar four, sticks in the car Ford
If I ain't have revolve four, before I start a Ford
Couldn't afford it, then how the fuck I brought it?
Air Max the Jordans, way that I be sporting like
Mike did his prime, I'm just trying to get mine
But rings I need nine, before it's time to resign

[Chorus: Fes Taylor (Mr. Prezident)]
You know the drama'll pop, so the llama'll pop
Ain't nothing change, still out on the block
(It's going down, when them shots come, catch a hot one
I pop the top then be ghost when the cops come)

[Mr. Prezident]
I'm a big gutter, slash slick fucker
Like a spatula, know how to flip butter
I'm a strip hugger, grind ain't no rest in me
Bang semi's, make it hot like the West Indies
That's the west in me, bring out the best in me
For my niggas I fry, give my left kidney
You know me, I don't bend on the strip
But I will wing a nigga like it's ten after six
You playing games but you dealing with a grown man
I ain't got to pop, I drop 'em with a closed hand
I'm on my grind, but, if my gwop too short
Treat you like a coupe, and take your muthafucking roof off
True talk, ain't none of you fucking with me
When it comes to the booth, know your boy gets busy
Either the O-9, boy, or the 4-5
I hang ya ass out to dry like a clothesline

[Chorus]

[Fes Taylor]
I won't stop til my pockets is swoll
On fire, and there's no stop, dropping and roll
On the road, know I grind to my place in the stars
Enough bread, I can sponsor my uncle to race cars
I play hard like football guards
Look at my fists, I just put tattoos over my scars
Maybe you on to get a job, you should steal and rob
Now haters drop jaws, see me wheelin' cars
Broads drop drawers, show they titties and bras
Tell you the pussy yours when the kitty'll throb
These niggas is pretend to be hard, til we centipede march
My city hard like the City of Gods
My rhymes feed neighborhoods, plenty of bars
So I sware, I let it loose, on, any of ours
And I don't need the Henny involved to get me charged
See I spaz on, many in charge with no regards
Fuck if you hold rank, nigga I hold weight
State to state, tried death the old case

[Chorus 2X]