Get Ready

[Intro: Broady Boy]
Uh, Ride to this
Yeah, I’m bringing the heat tho huh
Uh (I hope you’re ready)
Riders, Uh (Get Ready)
KFB
Let’s get real tho
(Woah)

[Verse 1: Broady Boy]
Yo, What you know about Dug Out Daughters?
Bugged out snorters
Getting caught in the crossfire
Drug ‘bout borders
Chow Mein, Chicken Wings, Quarter Waters
Hot Blocks, Nail Slots, Water borders
Price heights
Plots to extort and fought us
Yellow Tape, White Chalk and four reporters
Quarter-less with bugs
50 Tryna record us
What’s all this?
The thugs of the loot and love, uh
New trees, Kufi’s
Gots apparel and Coogi’s
Pit fights, 2 G’s and uh
Shaking get mud up
What up I’m trying to eat
Gutters draining the tears for my crying street
Heavy-weighters rocking hot roaders
Below freezing
We pass L’s and play pastels in the low season
Yell “Buck Up!” And throw G’s and
While weaker links get slapped for no reason
Ghetto Livin’
Pedal to the Metal Driven
Vision of 3 acre paper
And a medal living
Propellers, to get them gems to get you jealous
You trying to see the ceiling so we keep addicts and sellers
Retail, man the fiends I see sell that
TV’s, Speakers, CDs that’s the Hat-trick
That’s it, murder and sex
Cheap highs, birdies and becks
Cop 30 tecs step on steps and spray ‘em (brrrap bap bap)
At 2:45 AM, blinds cracking open as if hoping for mayhem
50 stay on the same beat, survey ‘em
Cop rips be there when he weigh ‘em
It’s game the game, play ‘em
100 foldin' to the sun’s cold
This one’s gold control
Of funds, guns and gold
Cats clap for riches
Sacrilegious
Rocking across cracking on packs and jigga’s
I just max ridiculous

[Chorus]
Everybody is Coming
Like Tinelli in the morning
MC's fucking ready
For war

[Verse 2: Kobe Bryant]
Uh Yeah, K.O.B.E. Who ya thought? Baby
My mind’s in 380
I’ll spray you down, baby
Flawless, baby
Safrus, baby
When you cock back, baby it’s bah bah baby
Thought that navy
I work out lazy
Nah, we run it down
Hard like Michael John-son and them
Maurice and them
Hollows tip for Macs chasing backs
With y’all broke ass raps
Hanging gold plaques
I was platinum before I was heard from, ooh
Got y’all pissed, I’m a hater’s worst wish
Market, Will Smith-ish
Realness, Jay Z-ish
Word of mouth, that you running off with your tongue
The success couldn’t catch me, so you let your hate run?
It ain’t hard, hop in the booth
Spit like y’all, so crown here, little six there
And Dialor
Please, c’mon now follow me come now
Maybe I’ll place you on my album, boost your style
Give you a line here, a little hook there
Now let us know, I do that for you
You’re not prepared
The year is mine
Y’all can’t rhyme
Tax write off is how y’all cats got signed
No not your scale c’mon dawg keep it real
How do you feel when you hear a loud nigga spill
Probably frustrated, your lines are outdated
Then you rip your rap pages, you know that you created
But couldn’t this gracious
Y’all need to stop hating
K.O.B.E. the hottest man since Satan

[Chorus]
Everybody is Coming
Like Tinelli in the morning
MC’s fucking ready
For war
Everybody is Coming
Like Tinelli in the morning
MC’s fucking ready