Talkin Loud (feat. Z-Ro) - K Rino

I ain’t no gangster, but on the mic I make boys bail

They run up in my set tripping, I check 'em like voicemail

Records dropping no promotion, but they manage to sell

My folks want 'em worse, than boys want naked pictures in jail

I leave you swoll up in a corner, with a ice bag on ya

You so brand new, you still got the price tag on ya

You wanna be me, the flow murdering three deep sprayer

It’ll never work, like putting a 8 track in a c.d.

player

I don’t bar these Hollywood cats, it’s all about me

You can’t see me, like a blocked number on a caller I. D

You got a entourage, trust me you could still get smacked

On songs bragging bout pistols, that your homeboys pack

I’m frustrated and I’m broke, but I’m keeping the faith

I wrote my own name on a list, of the people I hate

And I don’t rehabilitate devils, I kill 'em and skate

I ain’t gon waste my time, trying to make a snake fall straight

You must not know, who I am mayn

(I can see it, when I look in your eyes)

Talking loud, but you ain’t saying a damn thang

(up in the neighborhood, telling them lies)

When I’m through, you gon remember my damn name

(when I heard the shit, I wasn’t surprised)

In my hood, we get it popping like champagne

(You fools, bout to make my temperature rise yeah)

So many niggas wolf about they boxing game, but then get knocked out

And be the first one back to the car, before the gunman could squeeze some

shots out

Why they always mean mugging, looking like they gon bring some drama

Hoping the shit hit the fan they run to mama, and the tears smear they eye liner

With they cute ass, but not me I’m quick to knock niggas out and shoot fast

Garunteed to knock out socks when I handle the rock, and give a nigga hoop flash

And if you ain’t one deep, fuck around and put hands on your whole group ass

Then see how many weak rhymes, your ass can get bruised up and toothless

I’ll do this to a nigga, I’ll do this to a bitch

Long as it’s done on pen and paper, to help the person that’s saying he get rich

But in real life I caught cases, for stitching boys faces up real right

And I never earned a dollar for it, but they locked Z-Ro up real tight

I don’t pull my pistol out, unless I’mma empty that bitch

If you don’t wanna get hate sent back to ya, nigga don’t send me that shit

And if I say I’m coming to get ya, you might as well go on and pack up

This is permanent punishment, everytime they act up

Rolling through the hood, with my young homie Z-Ro

The K-I-N-G, of the G-H-E double T-O

Showing animosity, at every faker we know

Boys who run they suckers, get shot like a free throw

South Park Coalition, and the Screwed Up Click

Serving bar is like the law, so lace your shoes up bitch

But won’t be no evading arrest, this arrest is for the cardiac

Nigga these grown man guns by X-Box, y’all still fucking with Atari gats

They steady popping in, like prostitute panties you drop again

I know lot’s of men gossiping, so much they need oxygen

What we do to cappers man, the laws can’t even equal

We’ll be on your ass, harder than the child support people

And in case you fellas forgot, it’s H-Town for life

Taking over the rap game, disrespect us we’ll lay down your line

Depending on where you is on the hit list, you can lay down tonight

So make arrangements for this vacation, and enjoy the flight