Artist: Saigon f/ Kool G Rap, Lil Bibby, Memphis Bleek Album: The Greatest Story Never Told Chapter 3: The Troubled Times of Brian Carenard Song: Mechanical Animals (4 Generations) Typed by: Nickolye16@aol.com {*ad libs for first 21 seconds*} [Saigon] Just wakin up in the morning, gotta thank God Last night my uncle pulled off a bank job Them rich crackers they robbed in Cape Cod can't even make out a race of a face so they straight y'all My momma dead, I trained my daddy to get her back I know a lot of y'all thinkin, "What kind of shit is that?" That's fact, but if you wanna jump on a fast track He can kiss my whole black ass crack That ain't sound right, this shit is true as ever It's simply what you get when you put two and two together The red Panorama, fuck it, the blue Carrera The Porsche Cayenne, the sedan, the coupe, whatever Every day above ground is a good day I've been around ten years and I should stay The realest rapper in the world what I would say My actions so loud you wouldn't hear me anyway [Memphis Bleek] Yo (Bleek) Light the weed up, pour the D'USSE I never gave a fuck about what you say Just know your main bitch is a side bitch I hit her with the Pro Tools, left her to you, logic Greasy, back on that shit again My bullets kill, murder, call it a synonym I'm 'bout to sin again, niggaz fuckin with him again I kill bosses, merely cripple the middlemen And any day I break bread is a great day Play with the money, I'm Bobby Johnson, you Ray Ray As my nigga Sai' said, "Bleek don't play" They know a nigga mean business holdin down that K Yeah the S.K., A.K., B-K, 100 K Ridin in the V with the G-L-O-C-K Yeah, M-Greasy the meanest I'm so hot niggaz can't extinguish [Lil Bibby] Uhh (Bibby) The block is hot, the cops they watch us We, load the Glock up, shoot yo' block up We don't ever fight so don't try and box us Swear they gon' need more police to stop us Hustle for the dollars, weed I got a lot of Diamonds on my robins, they sag on her Pradas Better fix yo' cap jack, 'fore you get yo' scalp cracked Why you on my block thuggin knowin you ain't 'bout that? Fuckin up these beats got the streets on fire And my youngest play with heat, the police on fire If you want beef 2-2-3's gon' ride And if you got them hundreds you can meet 4-5 But if you ain't got shit, that'll get you shot quick Niggaz in the streets know I'm all about a profit The block is hot, the ops get shot And I know they want revenge so my Glock is cocked [Kool G Rap] (G!) From the land where they reach here, Omaha Beach here Not the place you sunbathe in your beach chair No white sands, nobody tannin with the bleach hair Sanitation'll bleach your blood out the streets here Far from mellow, hard fellow, Frank Costello Orchestrate his harps and cellos And swear they sell, blow the door on theyself Called survival of the fittest, he did it, go into self-mode Camoflauge in your pocket, garage stealth mode Run with the rumors; I run with these consumers I put cats on your head like skully hat for Puma Costume at the crib like I'm fixin cable Hit your navel and put your lunch back on the kitchen table Head with one big hole, like a twisted bagel Get tagged up in the bag with the zipper label Big calibre shit so everything you get is fatal