The Best Out Lyrics - Singles - Diplomats

Okay,okay,okay, yes sir 

Hell Rell, J.R. Writer, forty 

This is how we do it, maan 

I am one of a kind, yeah 

It's now or never, nigga 

Time's up, muthafucka 

Let's do this 

Aiyo, I stop paying for coke, get bricks on the muscle 

Gorillas on they bullshit, welcome to the jungle 

Fiends get served in the hallway, welcome to the hustle 

Where bitches do anything for a hit of that glass dick 

When I'm outta town, nothing less than a half brick 

One-Sixty on the dash, nothing less than a fast whip 

I floss when it's sunny, got money for a rainy day 

In the dope spot a few blocks from where the Yankees play 

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Man, I'm heavy in that BX borough, we ain't gotta front for nobody 

We just thorough and I'm sittin' on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles 

Took my advance and got my strip poppin' with them nickels 

And when I'm in ya neighborhood, you gotta go hide 

Deliver bullets to ya door like them domino pies nigga 

Say hello to my little friend like Scarface 

I pull that fuckin' rifle right out the guitar case 

Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out 

Jones the kuffe smacker, he bringing them techs out 

Sporty-style, 40 cal, he bringing Corvettes out 

Bezel, the beast but I still show you what fresh 'bout 

You know who shavin' the grams, 40k on the hand 

Killa nigga, what more can I say about Cam 

J.R. the writer of writers and Santana 

Back like cooked crack, he even supplying suppliers 

Photos 

The type that I'm tighter, tight 'cause I'm writer 

Write 'cause I'm nicer, site for the lifers 

Knifes in the cipher, writers a viper, listen this is butter 

Even ringling brothers see I got the eye of the tiger 

Before I met killa cam, I was dealing killa grams 

I mean killer grams, throws a tan, fill a pan 

Recorded in the hole, where you couldn't chill or stand 

No booth, microphone hangin off the ceiling fan 

Mass million fan sittin' in the Belly Hilton 

Watch how I heavy kills him, Bessey, Chevy, Desi fill 'em 

But I still ain't break a sweat, yes I'm chillin' 

Veet wong, seat wrong, Tito gonna bet the building 

I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends 

Grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans 

Piff grind was mean, had 'em dumb stuck 

So when I say uncut, I don't mean behind the scenes 

Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out 

Jones the kuffe smacker, he bringing them techs out 

Sporty-style, 40 cal, he bringing Corvettes out 

Bezel, the beast but I still show you what fresh 'bout 

You know who shavin' the grams, 40k on the hand 

Killa nigga, what more can I say about Cam 

J.R. the writer of writers and Santana 

Back like cooked crack, he even supplying suppliers 

Yo, I'm a NY G like Jeremy Shockey 

Come through drop my coupe like I meant to be sloppy 

I got DJ's kickin' karate 

'Cause they throw my wax on and take your wax off like Mr. Myagi 

Pimpin', I'm cocky, I slap your broad on the cheek 

And send her home barefooted, you massaging her feet 

You probably go down on a freak, you're hardly a meat 

But we ain't mad 'cause you're proving, you are what you eat 

Your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something 

Need a plate in ya grill like a toaster oven 

Fuck it, they even got dojas frontin' 

Shakin' your cola, only time your coke was bubbling cousin 

Cal get weight with no problemo 

Ride around ya block, sell it out the car window 

And ya mom's been know, that I chop rocks 

That make your father cop like Carl Winslow 

Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out 

Jones the kuffe smacker, he bringing them techs out 

Sporty-style, 40 cal, he bringing Corvettes out 

Bezel, the beast but I still show you what fresh 'bout 

You know who shavin' the grams, 40k on the hand 

Killa nigga, what more can I say about Cam 

J.R. the writer of writers and Santana 

Back like cooked crack, he even supplying suppliers