Message From The Block by E.R Lyrics
[Intro]
Yo E...
I see you getting all these hoes with this music thing, man
I see you making moves man, I see you coming up man
Don't let these niggas forget how you be spitting, man
Show them how you use to do back in the hood, killing everybody on these tracks homie
Don't let them forget, man
[Verse]
Comin' out hard, literally slangin' eightballs
Call me Mr. Big, Mr Big, as I take charge
At the industry, with my nine millimeter boys
Pimps in the house and you know we bring the noise
And we destroy, anybody that oppose
Cause everybody in the globe know Vagabonds run the show
And them hoes they wanna roll, cause them boys, they gon' smoke
My niggas carry it by the zone, there's always plenty more
You already know, from the tre-oh-five, the place I call home
No matter wherever that I go, I'm always chasing after the dough
Kick in the door waving the four-four
On that Biggie Smalls shit, naw that ain't really my flow
More like, rappity rapping, rapping my ass off
'Til you can't help but get up, clapping your ass off
Standing ovation, on that Young Jeezy
Got them saying "yeeeeaaaah", I make the shit look easy
Niggas talking greasy cause they don't understand
How they got more money than me but in my city they beneath me
Niggas straight "chisme", that's about as Spanish
As I'll ever get on a track, homie believe that
Where the weed at, where the tree wrap, naw I don't vibe on that
Just give me the 1.5 so we can chop the loud pack
Niggas yelling timber, wherever that I land
Bet you hear Mark Jackson talking 'bout "mama there goes that man!"
Game like ESPN, easy as ABC
Til the alphabet boys come and infiltrate me
FBI want me for murder on all these tracks
DEA want me for serving all this crack
ATF want me for burners, fully loaded when I rap
Sixteens, plus I pull elevens when I mack
That is Jordan on the strap and that is your bitch on the track
And that is them boys on the trap, how you think they make that scratch
Ain't no jobs in Lil' Havana, so you either gotta rap
Have a mean jump shot, sell crack, or know how to swing a baseball bat
Either for a team, or for the set, the one you rep
I roll dolo, still aiming for your neck
Still claiming I'm the best, still ain't getting no rest
Still pacing every breath cause every rhyme is a check
And every line is a threat, to these suckers well being
Shit so dope, might as well triple beam it
Might as well hit repeat bitch, and just vibe to it
And then ride to it, even get high to it
Cause I rhyme fluent, this that open up your mind music
On your iTunes, I advise you, don't misuse it
I been proving, for the past two years
Ain't nobody grinding harder than this dude here
And this you hear ain't even the half
But I'll tell you the rest when we get to 10th Ave, nigga
Yo E...
I see you getting all these hoes with this music thing, man
I see you making moves man, I see you coming up man
Don't let these niggas forget how you be spitting, man
Show them how you use to do back in the hood, killing everybody on these tracks homie
Don't let them forget, man
[Verse]
Comin' out hard, literally slangin' eightballs
Call me Mr. Big, Mr Big, as I take charge
At the industry, with my nine millimeter boys
Pimps in the house and you know we bring the noise
And we destroy, anybody that oppose
Cause everybody in the globe know Vagabonds run the show
And them hoes they wanna roll, cause them boys, they gon' smoke
My niggas carry it by the zone, there's always plenty more
You already know, from the tre-oh-five, the place I call home
No matter wherever that I go, I'm always chasing after the dough
Kick in the door waving the four-four
On that Biggie Smalls shit, naw that ain't really my flow
More like, rappity rapping, rapping my ass off
'Til you can't help but get up, clapping your ass off
Standing ovation, on that Young Jeezy
Got them saying "yeeeeaaaah", I make the shit look easy
Niggas talking greasy cause they don't understand
How they got more money than me but in my city they beneath me
Niggas straight "chisme", that's about as Spanish
As I'll ever get on a track, homie believe that
Where the weed at, where the tree wrap, naw I don't vibe on that
Just give me the 1.5 so we can chop the loud pack
Niggas yelling timber, wherever that I land
Bet you hear Mark Jackson talking 'bout "mama there goes that man!"
Game like ESPN, easy as ABC
Til the alphabet boys come and infiltrate me
FBI want me for murder on all these tracks
DEA want me for serving all this crack
ATF want me for burners, fully loaded when I rap
Sixteens, plus I pull elevens when I mack
That is Jordan on the strap and that is your bitch on the track
And that is them boys on the trap, how you think they make that scratch
Ain't no jobs in Lil' Havana, so you either gotta rap
Have a mean jump shot, sell crack, or know how to swing a baseball bat
Either for a team, or for the set, the one you rep
I roll dolo, still aiming for your neck
Still claiming I'm the best, still ain't getting no rest
Still pacing every breath cause every rhyme is a check
And every line is a threat, to these suckers well being
Shit so dope, might as well triple beam it
Might as well hit repeat bitch, and just vibe to it
And then ride to it, even get high to it
Cause I rhyme fluent, this that open up your mind music
On your iTunes, I advise you, don't misuse it
I been proving, for the past two years
Ain't nobody grinding harder than this dude here
And this you hear ain't even the half
But I'll tell you the rest when we get to 10th Ave, nigga