This song seemingly tackles the methods of deception those who manipulate others use to get victims to follow their demands, as well as diverting attention away from important issues. They'll also use it as a means to convince people to hate or kill others by pretending acts of terrorism were committed by the enemy when the acts themselves were done by the masters of control to promote discrimination and hate. It also reinforces the idea that these manipulative forces operate in various locations, infiltrating everyday life without detection, and propagate any and everywhere.
In general, it highlights the danger of hidden agendas, manipulation, and distraction, serving as a critique of those who exploit chaos and confusion to control and gain power, depicting a cautionary tale against falling into their traps. It encourages us to question the narratives presented to us and remain vigilant against manipulation in various parts of society.
Yeah, what up?
New York City, what up?
This your boy, to the Dash
S.P., Double are
Hell and Back
Styles straight out the Penn
[Styles P]
You don't like my shit you could bite my dick
I got a case, I'ma fight my shit
I got a blunt, I'ma light my shit
I'ma chain smoke with cocaine sellers
Stick up kid took the game over
Niggas hate death, still gotta break necks
I'm at the dealer copping shit they ain't make yet
You think you're nigga happy, I'm just trigger happy
Phone ring a lot, niggas throwing figgas at me
I got major plans, you get in the way
And your throat is the place where my banger lands
You don't want to anger me, upset me or startle me
You don't want a part of me, I'm going for the arteries
And I'm a colt-45 user, G-Host to the game of death
You about to die loser
This is Holiday and Dash-On
We burn a whole fucking house down so I don't need a mask on
[Chorus: x2]
You don't respect my flow you gon respect my gangsta
Or get stabbed with this motherfucking banger
Tell 'em P
You don't like my shit you could bite my dick
I got a case I'ma fight my shit
This for the streets
[Drag-On]
Nigga don't think cause you hot today you can't be in the fridge tomorrow
If you a family man I'll send you back your kids in a jar
You bought your soldiers, nigga I was raised with mine
I got three kids, four, five, but I raise my nine
I'll have y'all niggas missing your moms
Then let you find her wearing long sleeves but missing her arms
And ain't nothing for me to twist ya wig
All I gotta do is puff some weed then listen to B.I.G
Then come back and level the city
I got my money up, my band is thirty, my bezzle is fifty
My vest weigh fifteen, banana hold sixty
So I can run slow and hit you up swiftly
Extort rappers, they break me down half of their check
I keep a banger that'll break down half of your neck
I done been through hell and back, jail and bail me back
Drag and S.P.'ll blow off half of your chest
[Chorus]
[Styles P]
It's like a Kodak moment come capture this
How I motherfucking fracture shit, y'all niggas talking blaphemis
Motherfuckers we make classic shit, matter fact I'll mash ya shit
Y'all niggas like potatoes to me
And I might be high but you look good with a halo to me
And I ain't got a problem wit a problem
Fuck 'em cause I know he gon die with a nine in his noggin
[Drag-On]
Yeah, Drag back with the Ghost
You know what that means, more vests and a lot more toast
I'm a lot older plus a lot more violent
Tip of my guns covered, it's a lot more silent
My niggas pop off off imposts
Murder ya kinfolks and we ain't even fucking start wilding
So be cautious nigga or be in the coffin nigga
Cause we'll bring it to the hardest or the softest nigga
[Chorus)
New York City, what up?
This your boy, to the Dash
S.P., Double are
Hell and Back
Styles straight out the Penn
[Styles P]
You don't like my shit you could bite my dick
I got a case, I'ma fight my shit
I got a blunt, I'ma light my shit
I'ma chain smoke with cocaine sellers
Stick up kid took the game over
Niggas hate death, still gotta break necks
I'm at the dealer copping shit they ain't make yet
You think you're nigga happy, I'm just trigger happy
Phone ring a lot, niggas throwing figgas at me
I got major plans, you get in the way
And your throat is the place where my banger lands
You don't want to anger me, upset me or startle me
You don't want a part of me, I'm going for the arteries
And I'm a colt-45 user, G-Host to the game of death
You about to die loser
This is Holiday and Dash-On
We burn a whole fucking house down so I don't need a mask on
[Chorus: x2]
You don't respect my flow you gon respect my gangsta
Or get stabbed with this motherfucking banger
Tell 'em P
You don't like my shit you could bite my dick
I got a case I'ma fight my shit
This for the streets
[Drag-On]
Nigga don't think cause you hot today you can't be in the fridge tomorrow
If you a family man I'll send you back your kids in a jar
You bought your soldiers, nigga I was raised with mine
I got three kids, four, five, but I raise my nine
I'll have y'all niggas missing your moms
Then let you find her wearing long sleeves but missing her arms
And ain't nothing for me to twist ya wig
All I gotta do is puff some weed then listen to B.I.G
Then come back and level the city
I got my money up, my band is thirty, my bezzle is fifty
My vest weigh fifteen, banana hold sixty
So I can run slow and hit you up swiftly
Extort rappers, they break me down half of their check
I keep a banger that'll break down half of your neck
I done been through hell and back, jail and bail me back
Drag and S.P.'ll blow off half of your chest
[Chorus]
[Styles P]
It's like a Kodak moment come capture this
How I motherfucking fracture shit, y'all niggas talking blaphemis
Motherfuckers we make classic shit, matter fact I'll mash ya shit
Y'all niggas like potatoes to me
And I might be high but you look good with a halo to me
And I ain't got a problem wit a problem
Fuck 'em cause I know he gon die with a nine in his noggin
[Drag-On]
Yeah, Drag back with the Ghost
You know what that means, more vests and a lot more toast
I'm a lot older plus a lot more violent
Tip of my guns covered, it's a lot more silent
My niggas pop off off imposts
Murder ya kinfolks and we ain't even fucking start wilding
So be cautious nigga or be in the coffin nigga
Cause we'll bring it to the hardest or the softest nigga
[Chorus)
Lyrics submitted by SongMeanings
Respect My Gangsta Lyrics as written by Mel Smalls Loren Lunnon
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Songtrust Ave, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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