Fes Taylor - Warriors Pt. 2 Lyrics

[Fes Taylor:]
Two 4, Two 4-ty Warriorz up in this bitch
Screaming the warrior, the kid snitch, plus never get shit
My brother rock, waiting to pop off
Wolves that'll eat you with hot sauce, he sit with the cops off
Point out pictures and got boss
Sent up the river, now he fronting like Secaucus popped on
Pop corn rappers and pop sauce
Sound like I could do a better job, son, putting my pops on
I bang out with niggas that was known in the street
So I don't fear a rapper on the microphone, when he speak
And hope a nigga home when I creep, nigga talk shit
Shoot him in the mouth, have him holding his beak
Two 4 War, is holding the streets, shake up the industry, son
We rock the puss like when soda released
While diamonds in the rough play tough, the champ is here
Dare you to say something back, I trample your career
Yo, I'm tired of niggas biting my shit, just let me write it for you
Nigga I'm so hot, my darts like lighter fluid
You might of blew it though, facing the kid
We can do it on Kayslay, you afraid I'm a win
I put, five grand, me and any rapper that's out
Guaranteed, I shut 'em down, what the yapping about
I have twenty Park Hill niggas, crashing his house
Face scraping the concrete, draggin 'em out
Listen, I ride low in a hooptie, til Gil came through in a porsche
And scooped me, so I'm doing me
Plus I'm still nice with the two-piece, but it's like
Shots go off, when I write on the loose leaf
And I take it like you murdered my friends, uh-huh
So at shows we throwing chairs like, Bang 'Em Smurf and 'em
Coward, you running with punks, you ain't bout it
My niggas live, everyone of them dump, bitch
Yeah, Two 4-ty Warriorz, alright, ok
Why I'm so angry? These faggot niggas try to bang me
On Harrison Ave., I'm blasting a mag
Yo, the judge offered 25, I still didn't break
All these niggas acting like they real, really they fake
You niggas is hoes, you fronting on the video shows
Six shut you up, have your body sinking below
So, f*ck a bitch, I'm just try'nna f*ck a bitch
Got a couple chicks suck a dick til the nutter split then your throat slit
Taylor wrote this, same way I'm on them posters
Gun and hostlers, send slugs with no postage
Smomke a roach clip when I'm stressed, approach a click
With the vest, and the Smith and Wess', lifting your dress
You bitch ass niggas, I'm like, Billy the Kid in the west
We the cash niggas, confess the Milli kids is the best
We the mud kids, look what a slug did, we crooked, we done biz
I triple, we run this, you pump bitch
I pump with niggas who pump in it
With the shotgun, dumping your whip, I'm crushing the strip
Peace to my young wolves, somebody die, if a gun pull
Under the full moon, aim at your stove
In a hooptie down low, and I painted it though
Lights go out, after I flame at your bro
And I'm still in the projects, beefing with police
It's no peace, cops beat case like Cocheese
Yeah the original muthaf*ckin' Warriorz
Before M.O.P., before G-Unit, we was the four building
Getting this paper muthaf*cka...