Zee Me Later Songtext
von OG Hindu Kush

ZEE ME LATER F. I-BLAST
To think, immigrants move here to serve pizza...
Put a brick on a credit card - work visa
Money grow on trees son, it′s purp fever
Strippers, sniffers. everyone burn cheeba
Still puffin' when the piff on drought
It ain′t what you think when they say that kush sold out
Son, i gotta eat... if i ain't makin' stacks, layin′ back
Lasertag, take the cash, paperbag, Reagan mask
Stainless gat, chrome - grey and black Raiders cap
Kool G scar, this blade could change the face of rap
If i get got, what kind of presidential fate is that?
My Jays fade to black, fiends got Roc Nation hats
There′s buyers on the clock, suppliers on the top
Little soldiers on the corners, those sirens are the cops
If you ridin' in a drop, they might fire at your top
Shit, Quebec could seperate the way they dyin′ for the Bloc(k)


You hear me now? guaranteed you gon Zee Me Later
You feel my style then you rush back, rush back
Girls break their necks to clutch the fabric (ha!)
You wonder why i'm still in love with this rap shit? it′s me, 'Os - 613 and ya dunno
The team roll like Chi-Ali when the funds low
East coast beasts, we turn beef into blood soaked
Sheets, we at peace only off of that blunt smoke
Son′s bright, must be evolved sunlight
Class of '98, we money farm alumni
You a tough guy, runnin' to one time
To talk and somebody saw? body parts wind up in Mumbai
Yeah I see you pushin′ work out that Best Western
And you zee me pullin′ birds like a jet engine
Burbs to the West End, we live from the butcher shop
Mixtapes are 2 for 5 when the kush get chopped
What's really good, what really pop?
Let′s get it crackin' my people - achilles lock
Rather fight than run, spiteful bastard
If I bite my tongue it′s to stifle laughter

Body of a warrior, mind of a madman
Manual dexterity, fingers designed to bag grams
Blowin' on hashplant crossbred with Afghan
Name gettin′ big though it's forcefed by rap fans
The last man standin', I-Blast is a cracked atom
Leavin′ holes in your terrain as vast as the Grand Canyon
Haters want my cash, they mad and they can′t stand him
And these cops on my ass, I laugh as they can't grab him
All you mans scrappin, niggas′ll backhand 'em
I ain′t a killer but still i'm quicker to clap at ′em
Niggas know my name in the hood for gettin' funds,
Sellin' guns, dealing cocaine in the hood
You can catch me on the 401 with a couple pounds of piff
A down-ass bitch and a loaded gun
Not to mention the chain got some stocky links
And the pendant lookin′ somethin like a hockey rink