"Work Hard" lyrics
(feat. Get Low, JT)
Get Low Records motherfucker
Bringing the best to the table
Bluechip, Nina B, [?], what it is
JT Get Low motherfucker that's what it is motherfucker
Yeah, who fucking with us nigga
Now (what goes around comes around)
I'm putting this clique up nigga against all you niggas
Now get it right
Hey yo, this is where I see me in this game
Benz Coupe, Maserati, plus I got your bitch all in the Range
And y'all niggas ain't gon' do shit, soon as your crew spit
My tool spit, metal to your side, watch you lose hips
And I ain't want to take it there but fuck it we can bang
My Cali head busters'll show you how to throw them things
I'm too connected like John Gotti and Nino
For a small fee they find your body wreaking out in Reno
I know the niggas that sell weight, and niggas that stick the niggas
That sell weight, hammer close behind me like when you tailgate
I know you a snitch, I can see it in your eyes
Shackled up, D.O.C.s, all my niggas on that ride
You can, stunt if you wanna, Chip is a gunner
Been reigning since ninety-six now it's time for the thunder
In your mind you can blame me but open your mouth and name me
I'm running you out of office you're softer than Bush and Cheney
Go 'head, and try to play me I do you like I was Amy Fisher
Smoking a Swisher like I wish a bitch would
Listen and use your vision 'cause living in this hood
And sinning in your division you think it's all good
Got niggas on death row and it ain't about Suge
Niggas that stay home they scared to come out shook
Mothers with five kids and all of 'em got took
It's right in these niggas face, but they just will not look
I'm tired, of the B.S. I'm cheating [?] some rejects
Even though we make the best of what little respect, we get
This is the life, that was given to me
A rich-ass bitch that's what I'm fitting to be
Brooklyn to Bangkok I'm begging to be
And don't nobody write, what I'm spitting but me
Nina B
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggas work hard in the game so they notice this, what
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggas work hard in the game so they notice this, what
Underground with it, popping collars now
Bust yo' shit nigga, put them guns down
Put yo' knuckles up, catch you slipping dog
That's how we do it independent now we 'bout to ball
For years niggas sold me dreams that got me gassed
Made me want to get revenge or get the hockey mask
Got beef? Yo the burner's in the lobby stashed
Get your crew if you want, all them niggas is probably ass
I take the long way, fuck taking the shortcut
Now we got corporate sponsorships wrapping our tour bus
A quick 32, yo them shits is like warm-ups
It ain't coincidental in the hood we was born tough
You chump or get chumped, punk or get punked
Save your little craps homey, fuck it get drunk
Was one at the top, but now I'm back at the bottom
Most 'em hate to spit with me 'cause when I rap I surprise 'em
Shit is real, that's why I stay strapped with a condom
I keep 31 flavors just like Baskin & Robbins
I'm here now, y'all supposed to be stressed, scared to death
That you gonna be next, record labels, promote the rejects
While starving artists is closest to sets
And certain niggas ducking me because they owe me a check
I spit more heat, than a bowl of chili
Y'all niggas know the deally
So turn the music up and roll a Philly
Yeah, roll the Philly or Swisher Sweet
And I ain't tripping while you niggas just stand on your feet
Figgaro done walked in the building, it's time to expand
Coming with hundreds of grands and hundreds of plans
You see this Black Wall Street is for the po' broke and hungry
None of my niggas on the corner never be lonely
Stuck in the gutter mayne, coke packs like Tony
Bricks and pounds of weed half the city owe me
My shipment too big, fronting out the homies
I ain't even tripping mayne my pockets never lonely
Benjamin Franklins and Grants stick together like
Boys in tough weather making noise forever, ah
Yeah mayne, it's real shit nigga and we independent nigga
Fuck what you heard dog, independent is where the money is at nigga
Fuck all your major labels nigga, that's what it is
JT the Bigga Figga, Nina B
Bringing the best to the table
Bluechip, Nina B, [?], what it is
JT Get Low motherfucker that's what it is motherfucker
Yeah, who fucking with us nigga
Now (what goes around comes around)
I'm putting this clique up nigga against all you niggas
Now get it right
Hey yo, this is where I see me in this game
Benz Coupe, Maserati, plus I got your bitch all in the Range
And y'all niggas ain't gon' do shit, soon as your crew spit
My tool spit, metal to your side, watch you lose hips
And I ain't want to take it there but fuck it we can bang
My Cali head busters'll show you how to throw them things
I'm too connected like John Gotti and Nino
For a small fee they find your body wreaking out in Reno
I know the niggas that sell weight, and niggas that stick the niggas
That sell weight, hammer close behind me like when you tailgate
I know you a snitch, I can see it in your eyes
Shackled up, D.O.C.s, all my niggas on that ride
You can, stunt if you wanna, Chip is a gunner
Been reigning since ninety-six now it's time for the thunder
In your mind you can blame me but open your mouth and name me
I'm running you out of office you're softer than Bush and Cheney
Go 'head, and try to play me I do you like I was Amy Fisher
Smoking a Swisher like I wish a bitch would
Listen and use your vision 'cause living in this hood
And sinning in your division you think it's all good
Got niggas on death row and it ain't about Suge
Niggas that stay home they scared to come out shook
Mothers with five kids and all of 'em got took
It's right in these niggas face, but they just will not look
I'm tired, of the B.S. I'm cheating [?] some rejects
Even though we make the best of what little respect, we get
This is the life, that was given to me
A rich-ass bitch that's what I'm fitting to be
Brooklyn to Bangkok I'm begging to be
And don't nobody write, what I'm spitting but me
Nina B
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggas work hard in the game so they notice this, what
We 'bout to blow this bitch
Niggas work hard in the game so they notice this, what
Underground with it, popping collars now
Bust yo' shit nigga, put them guns down
Put yo' knuckles up, catch you slipping dog
That's how we do it independent now we 'bout to ball
For years niggas sold me dreams that got me gassed
Made me want to get revenge or get the hockey mask
Got beef? Yo the burner's in the lobby stashed
Get your crew if you want, all them niggas is probably ass
I take the long way, fuck taking the shortcut
Now we got corporate sponsorships wrapping our tour bus
A quick 32, yo them shits is like warm-ups
It ain't coincidental in the hood we was born tough
You chump or get chumped, punk or get punked
Save your little craps homey, fuck it get drunk
Was one at the top, but now I'm back at the bottom
Most 'em hate to spit with me 'cause when I rap I surprise 'em
Shit is real, that's why I stay strapped with a condom
I keep 31 flavors just like Baskin & Robbins
I'm here now, y'all supposed to be stressed, scared to death
That you gonna be next, record labels, promote the rejects
While starving artists is closest to sets
And certain niggas ducking me because they owe me a check
I spit more heat, than a bowl of chili
Y'all niggas know the deally
So turn the music up and roll a Philly
Yeah, roll the Philly or Swisher Sweet
And I ain't tripping while you niggas just stand on your feet
Figgaro done walked in the building, it's time to expand
Coming with hundreds of grands and hundreds of plans
You see this Black Wall Street is for the po' broke and hungry
None of my niggas on the corner never be lonely
Stuck in the gutter mayne, coke packs like Tony
Bricks and pounds of weed half the city owe me
My shipment too big, fronting out the homies
I ain't even tripping mayne my pockets never lonely
Benjamin Franklins and Grants stick together like
Boys in tough weather making noise forever, ah
Yeah mayne, it's real shit nigga and we independent nigga
Fuck what you heard dog, independent is where the money is at nigga
Fuck all your major labels nigga, that's what it is
JT the Bigga Figga, Nina B
Writer(s): Jayceon Taylor, Joseph Tom
