Hive Lyrics - Casey Veggies

Promise Heron I'll put my fist up after I get my dick sucked 

Quick buck, maybe a gold chain 

With that fucking flow that s-s-so belittles men 

They tentatively tend to turn and go when I am finished 

Stone cold, hardly fucking with these niggas, nigga listen 

The description doesn't fit, if not a synonym of menace, then forget it 

In turn, these critics and interns admitting the shit spit 

It just burn like six furnaces writ it 

It affixed learning them digits, and simultaneously 

"Dispelling one-trick-pony myths, isn't he?" 

One adolescent, fucking six-nigga energy 

And crawling down fax like a rich nigga centipede 

Crack ceramic and slap a hand out of cash account 

Stamp and shouting, thrashing, these niggas done let the Kraken out 

Crack-a-lackin', like snap, crackle, poppin' your ammo off 

Hide your face, and throw your flannels off, Sweatshirt, nigga 

(Sweatshirt, nigga) 

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'87 roof top, Bronson 

Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic 

(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) 

(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose) 

Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop 

(Rolling with that flow swamp) 

Catch me over stove top 

(Rapping to that coke rock) 

(Passionless in old Jive clothing 

With them doors wide open) 

(Dim the floor lights, focused) 

Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch 

Photos 

From a city that's recession-hit 

With stress niggas could flex metal with, peddle to rake pennies in 

Desolate testaments trying to stay Jekyll-ish 

But most niggas Hyde, and Brenda just stay pregnant 

Breaking news: death's less important when the Lakers lose 

There's lead in that baby food, heads try to make it through 

Fish-netted legs for them eyes that she cater to 

Ride dirty as the fucking sky that you praying to 

So here I sit, eye in the pyramid 

God spit it like it's truth serum in that beer and then 

Disappear again, reappear bearded 

On top of a lear, steering it into the kids' ear again 

Provider of the backdrop music 

For the crack rock user and the mascot, Earl 

Rawer than the skinned knee cap on the blacktop 

Salivary glands, lighter fluid for the matchbox 

Striking, wait, wait, who the fuck you badder than? 

Boy oh boy, I'm bad as burnt pollo off the grill and shit 

Spitter of the Little Nick, nimble, rickrolling 

Bitch niggas pick litter, piff-blower, plus I pillage shit 

'87 roof top, Bronson 

Whipping hoopties tryna boost raw chronic 

(Brutus in that booth, double scoop, hock vomit up) 

(Sub rocking, thud knocking niggas teeth loose) 

Bruh, I don't fuck with no cop 

(Rolling with that flow swamp) 

Catch me over stove top 

(Rapping to that coke rock) 

(Passionless in old Jive clothing 

With them doors wide open) 

(Dim the floor lights, focused) 

Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch 

Quit with all that tough talk, bruh, we know you niggas ain't about shit 

Come around, we gun 'em down, bodies piled, Auschwitz 

Bulletproof outfits, weapons concealed 

I'm ready to kill, so test it, all my weapons is real 

Selling thizz, couldn't tell him what the recipe is 

Got 'em wishing that they never gave these weapons to kids, cheers 

Send chills up spines of fat bitches after 

Shows throwing out sandwiches, niggas get it how they 

Live and I live for money, other words, I'm getting money 

Little boy told me when it's time to ride, they'll send them for me 

Ain't nobody scaring me, niggas ain't prepared for heat 

Tools hit like pool sticks, the way I cue shit 

If this was '88, I would have signed to Ruthless 

Nine-four, would've had them walking down Death Row 

First is when the best go, hate is what the rest do 

Voice inside my head told me, "Wet 'em if they test you" 

So it's Raging Waters season 

That yomper big as Larry Johnson, leave your momma seedless 

Everybody hard until it's only God they seeing 

Kittens soft but in they songs be trapping hard as Jeezy, I don't believe it 

But to each his own, I ain't tripping long as I can reach the chrome 

Heat your home like Southern California Gas, police pass 

Tell 'em "Free Smalls," off Palm with the heat drawn 

Strapped up long as the chief for police armed 

Raised where the beasts are, north of the Beach 

A couple streets past Baby J, bony niggas spraying Ks 

Ruger with the pork face, Jewish for the court case 

Here to save you niggas from the sorbet, Coldchain 

Like it's nothing, cause it's nothing, bitch