G.L.O.W - 4th Disciple, Hell Razah

They don’t wanna see us blow, they don’t wanna see us with dough

They don’t wanna see us flow, hell no, we glow

You knew it was the end the way we came in the door

Hit the club and I’ma leave with your hoe, hoe, hoe

My flames be hot every time that I throw

Ain’t nothing new son, I did this before

GGO, my niggas flip money like it ain’t no more

'Cause no friends when there ain’t no more

For the lust of currency, they put their trust in this country

All your friends be cunningly when they hungry

Jealousy wanna stop the prophet

Niggas hate to see money in our pockets but they don’t knock it

Sold your soul like stock markets, regardless

We bare heartless, with or without revolvers

We been this way before Godfather’s or Al Pacino

Catch me with blacks and Latinos

Jamaicans, Mexicans, Malcolm X again with a pen

Set a trend, watch you and your friend go copy it

Got Boricua’s screaming how poppy is sick

The illest shorty on the floppy disk, watch me it clips

Surpass and outshine all that light you get

First you live then you reathe it out, write it and spit

And I’ma leave with the same deeds I came in with

You can’t die with those riches you’ve got, them bitches you got

Enjoy life before it can stop, it’s too short

What’s hip hop without New York' You should of thought

I seen brothers get their face cut over Newport’s

Stickup kids who live for you to take your shoes off

We got lawyers working for us that’ll lie in the court

We still repent even if Christ ain’t die on the cross

Gamble life like a dice game, head crack, a row aces

Dept pays off your sent wages

This takes place on a weekly basis

In this business of handshakes and smiling faces

Hatred from the whole ghetto made us racist, exclusive

Got fanatics can’t wait to tape it

Spiritual, so a secret agent can’t trace it

Blessed be the soul, seek patience

We ain’t too far from y’all, starting to worship a gold pagan

Mystic God in the form of Satan, until nation rides against nation

You got wars and more rumours of wars

It’s yours truly, every track out I drop jewelry

I’m reality not a movie, you be sitcom

A sick con while hip hop sit in my palm

Let me hear a rhyme that ain’t about crime and firearms

I’m a quiet bomb, y’all niggas can’t disconnect

If my voice ever left I’ma use the internet

Ask Meth if I’m hot enough to come as a threat

And is it safe for you put down and place your bet'

You want a hit record, tell your label cut me a check

I leave them scared to rhyme, have a verse stuck in his neck