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Not Told feat. KA, Knowledge The Pirate
Roc Marciano
Popularity ยท Low
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
Original
Translation
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Niggas ain't like they used to be, and the niggas that you thought
Was somebody, they ain't that. If them niggas is in jail and they
Got football numbers, they all good, them are the real niggas. But
Them niggas that went to prison, and you see them out here saying
This, that and the third, they know who they are
They the homo thug. I call them fucking homo thug
They not thugging, I don't have no respect for them
Cause you don't tell... you know, the game is not to be told
I'm in that all black boat
See how I be leaning like I'm on that dope
Certified grimy nigga, wore that coat
Knock your ass over like poor black folk
Bag up the coke like Quaker Oats
Take notes, play the stove
Lames are disposed
Trey eight-ohs, bang in your clothes
Train hoes, the game's to be sold, not told
Learned life lessons, late night fighting leopards
Polo down like Tyson Beckford
Flow is nice, the blow is white like Robert Redford
Little homie, this is just textbook
Flesh is cooked, bust my gun like them kids in Red Hook
Keep it jumping like Russell Westbrook
It can't be better put, we live fast, got a lead foot
Push sevens out Meadowbrook
Your melon get whooped, they find your skeleton in the hood
I sat and had a sip at the Gentlemen's Club
Intelligent writers, pockets got elephantitis
Come with choppers like helicopter pilots
I drive a 5 lopsided, pop iron
Try and make a hole for you like linemen
Designer trends is high end, I'm disguised in
Cartiers is wide thin, keep my eyes hid
Take advice from wise men with ends
Rhymes is deep, you might wanna dive in and swim
You feel the pain in the music
My waves are polluted, big chain hang stupid
That's how we do shit
(Yeah nigga, you already know how we play, nigga)
I'm in that all black boat
See how I be leaning like I'm on that dope
Certified grimy nigga, wore that coat
Knock your ass over like poor black folk
Bag up the coke like Quaker Oats
Take notes, play the stove
Lames are disposed
Trey eight-ohs, bang in your clothes
Train hoes, the game's to be sold, not told
Before the night part, this life start
Don't be yawning four in the morning
Get Etch-a-Sketched in that white chalk
It's raining and storming, the water's quite dark
Kingpins, killers turning foreman thinking they might walk
No playing or planking have you walking the plank
Now you food for them sharks in the tank
From a hood where we sharpen our shanks
Kingpins get stripped for their ranks
The watch and chain, plus the pinky ring
Come through customs with a couple things
Six-fifty clean with them custom rims
M-16 with a couple clips
Mossberg pumps with a pistol grip
Silencers, infrared, all official shit
A few Nick Cannons off of my pirate ship
Married to Mariah Carey as I hug the strip
Submariner Rolex wrapped around the wrist
Blowing cannabis, I navigate down one-two fifths
Water blue Masi straight off the dealership
We pour out liquor in remembrance
This is it
I'm in that all black boat
See how I be leaning like I'm on that dope
Certified grimy nigga, wore that coat
Knock your ass over like poor black folk
Bag up the coke like Quaker Oats
Take notes, play the stove
Lames are disposed
Trey eight-ohs, bang in your clothes
Train hoes, the game's to be sold, not told
You ain't have a clue
What niggas had to see and had to do
Just to have some weed that they could chew
Meat to make a stew
The need to feed lead to fatal brew
In the streets knee-deep, major crew
They lie and deprive, it's what they made us do
Engage in the trades and erase gauges blue
But don't touch the custies, wave them through
Rugged in public, covered our neighbors too
Our haters brew necessarily, cynic glowing with confidence
Temporarily winning, knowing the consequence
Fuck man law, I'm speaking of the fire
Word to the sire, my fans poor, I'm preaching to the choir
We in the dirt, reaching with desire
That's why we sling the work, seeking for a buyer
Cook it up, keep it on the fryer
Pump enough bass to make speakers burst and we ignore and tire
Now we always been loose, dealing off the turf like it
Was never gonna run dry. That ain't no business. No other
Game is run so disorganized. Look around. Everything that
Is taking care of business is together, dig it? Tight!
...Vividly recalled to mind by a series of events that
Have taken place recently in the neighborhood of Hempstead
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