Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Whoa, whoa, ladies, dip it low, slow.
We the main men from the Contello.
Whoa,
whoa,
now get ready,
it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Whoa, whoa, fellas, let the punch flow.
We the main men from the Contello.
Whoa, whoa, yeah, hello, yeah.
Grand opening, rebirth into reality.
Skills home and unrehearsed lethalities.
We done did reverse your mentality.
The game's lifted a couple notches,
not actually.
You watched us carefully, know what exactly.
We managed to pull off what was impossible theoretically.
Annihilating you and passing systematically.
Let's summon the game but the abuse of hospitality.
How I'm feeling, I guess it comes naturally.
Son of an MC, so is a
genetic normality.
My pops on the mic but a rapper sing.
Master of ceremonies for ministers and kings.
I'm a master of crematories, I administer pain.
Run for the cats with baloney raps,
rockin' fake bling.
Gotta hand it to me,
master of making words string.
And hold the cheddar together like a purse string.
Come on.
Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Whoa, whoa, ladies, dip it low, slow.
We the main men from the Contello.
Whoa,
whoa,
now get ready,
it's time for the show.
Time to get
live and it's time to blow.
Whoa, whoa, fellas, let the words flow.
Main men some black fence from the Contello.
Suicide, it's a suicide.
Suicide, it's a suicide.
Yeah,
you know I stay fly in these DKNY's
black SUVs. And Tom Ibun's South Beach,
reppin' cats from the East.
Yeah, the stakes is high, you want beef?
Yeah, we got stakes as high.
Hot as hell when the crew walks in it.
You got problems with the cook that come to the park,
the tenant,
and I pay a minute.
Dark as hell when the crew's done finishin'
Got your whole family wantin',
but you know it's all street business.
I draw a rap to the rhythm of the moon.
The looney tunes,
spit a monsoon,
spit a typhoon.
In this tune for the shook once,
spun once,
spelled once.
Honeymoon's over,
this is cartel platoon.
We green, yellow, red like Cameroon.
Crime of the century,
the legacy,
yeah,
you know it's a property.
Crazy carling with them soprano Tony's.
Lucky Lucy's,
nerdy Harry's,
are the bosses of the mic.
Showtime,
now we strike the ass,
go have a street time safe to roam.
Devil's Island where we from,
papalong,
record crullion,
who the don?
Murderous random, untouchable, invincible hoes.
I'm a coon,
even the * come in a sleep.
I flow too cool,
cooler than a penguins baby too.
It's cartel.
Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Ladies,
slip and go slow.
We the main men from the cartel low.
Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Fellas, let the f*** burn slow.
Main men some black fence from the cartel low.
From the streets of Malikai,
beat your f*** down with that street sign.
Yo,
crew buggin',
haven't seen the checks that we signed.
The heat shine next to a double-handed butterfly.
So watch out,
we run NY and I,
one of you cats can even test me on a bad day.
I play 33's, I guess that's what I better say.
Even if I'm his,
you still catching all of my threats.
Jays what,
what,
the tweeters ready to sweep your streets up.
It'll feel like you speak as kids since having teachers.
Who's the man?
Okay, these kids be talking *.
KLG, spit lyrics, Navigator on the beats.
And we're out to get money.
Green Navigator, chicks on every minute.
That's why my flow is a natural gift.
Cartel, a clique below the window.
That stick's bringing pressure to cliques with spit,
say.
Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Ladies,
dip and go slow.
We the main men from the cartel low.
Now get ready, it's time for the show.
Time to get live and it's time to blow.
Fellas, let the burn slow.
Main men to black fence from the cartel low.
Q the lyricist,
I'm on a mission not to blow minds.
You're just a faggot MC,
smile a wish and you can blow mine.
You're singing steady,
but you're smiling all kinds of covers.
You know class,
singing still doing all kinds of covers.
My tape fat,
where I lock a nation 36D. Yours inject a faster than a K36D.
Love songs, love songs, homies sick of that.
You leave me tense like an India and Pakistani cricket match.
But I don't give a f*** about you,
I'm no cricket match.
Malik and Joe the sickest cats,
I make a wicked match.
Cartel or dons, we just chill and say nothing.
And laugh when a joker starts fronting.