2015 BET Hip Hop Awards - Live Cypher

[Verse 1: T-Top]
Somebody get me out the hood, man, time is tickin’
Last year, a nigga could’ve been a homi' victim
I was stuffing twenty pales in a Honda Civic
Like 'fuck the law!' as long as my mama with it
Before the bricks, man, a nigga couldn’t find the women
I used to tell 'em I love 'em, I had to lie to hit it
My ex-bitch spend all her free time in strippin’
They’re like ”I just seen the girl”, I’m like “I’m in business”
I’m from the gutter, why would I listen to y’all opinion?
Your voice-box ain’t the same with a hollow in it
I turn into a different nigga when I’m tired of pitchin’
Man, I’ll shoot my own work if a dollar missin’
Bar raiser, Carolina star player
No time for Harvard, I went to school with a hard shaver
I had a job, cooking, called it hard labor
Park Life, we’re the bar shaper

[Verse 2: DNA, K-Shine, DNA & K-Shine]
BET Award, that’s a fact
I’m charged up, let’s kill this shit, back to back
We wildin’, feeling like Kiss, nigga, we stylin’
Outkast, Big Boi, we like to hold 3000
It’s on now, wish you niggas would bring the wall down
Let them try snoop, don’t worry, I got my dog pound
Now it’s two targets to think, that’s the short, clown
Make the kid nap in your crib; Rick Ross style
Oh god, they couldn’t find a prison that can out-bar me
Tried to go right, I went left, you can’t southpaw me
Have you next to kin in the box; that’s without Barbie
Have it kick together and spin on them; house party
We’re doing this since Smack DVD
The work uncut, like the old BET
Niggas can’t see the world, ‘cause they’re wrapped in [?]
They want killers on the cypher, now they’re access granted
I swear I’ll leave them red, man, there’s never been a method to it
I guarantee any beat I get on, I’ma execute it
Birdies only stay fly, nigga, we gon’ never lose it
This 2-on-2 shit, the best to do it

[Verse 3: Charlie Clips]
Should I go black power?
Should I just give ‘em some bars?
Miracle Whip; soft white shit in the jar
Fiends singing, “It’s alright”; Kendrick Lamar
For the dough, boy, I'll let the tre enter your car
Then "BOW!", I always got two Glocks with me
And a pump like the black nigga who shot Ricky
And a Tommy, in case my whole crew not with me
Got the power to lift the ghost with two Glock 50’s
I tried to tell these haters that I’ve been fire
Too many characters, it’s messing up the empire
Niggas lying on how they gon’ blaze a shell
Your squad ass, your camp full of K Michelles
Got an attitude like Eazy-E
I went from EBT to BET
I'll let this MAC burn your disc, like a DVD
The clip drop out, I guess it want its GED
Woah, if you don’t want to follow, I don’t give a damn
If you do, @TheRealCharlieClips on Instagram
Ayy, Bus, I had to show ‘em I’m a problem
What’s the best borough in the world? Harlem

[Verse 4: Rain 910]
Yeah
Cop drew his pistol with my hands up high
Tell ‘im, "I ain’t scared of nothing, it’s a perfect day to die"
They shootin', badge on, ruthless
The way they get away with it, might as well get the nooses
Now picture us hand in hand
I shed tears when I see pictures of Sandra Bland
Moment of silence; no more marchin'
I’m condonin' the violence and all of the riots
Scream ‘payback!’ as we clique up and get ’em
Innocent victims killed by a menacing system
They might ban my verse for the fact that it was a [?]
To make you act ratchet; simple mathematics
But this is Huey Newton suited for his final dance
This isn’t for Caitlyn Jenner or Empire fans
This only for the soldiers in the field
Loading up they ammo, ‘cause they know it’s getting real
Eyes of a trafficker, rewrite the vernacular
If Trump gets elected, I’m packing up back to Africa
I’m not a rapper, I just rapidly report the thoughts of the
Urban community, take what ruins it, give it back to ya
It play loud in your home, your kids breath it
Daughters turn into Miley, sons into Slim Jesus
Now we even, as long as it keeps repeating
I have every kid in the 'burbs [?]
Free Po, Rock, Gutta Free, and Si
They can trap your body, but can’t freeze your mind
I’m conflicted, want my people to walk like this
But the d-boys is saying, “Rain, talk that shit!”
So I’m live from the gutter, nigga, I ain’t sleep in five days
Young Frank Sinatra, partner, I did it my way
Don’t let me hit the blazer button, I can cause a crime wave
*Do, do, do* leave your blood on my Cavallis
Papa script and the chick play up in the right day
Eating dinner at red sticks, I don’t dine at Fridays
The trappers, man, I’m receiving they blessin'
With the ghetto [?], coat fresher than a prom date
High school dropout, still they watchin' my pockets
Loopie, I spend hooptie money on watches
Salute me or shoot me, boy, get your muscle up
Carolina king, Fayetteville’s favorite hustler
We got a customer