Quarterback Vision - Z-Ro

Uh homie, you don’t really want me to shine

Like Boston George, ain’t wanna give up his connect to Diego

You the type of nigga that wanna come up, but want me to stay low

The day I leave this bitch in a body bag, is what you pray fo'

But I’m still living and ya’ll haters get mo' mad, with every breath I take

Sometime I might spill a nigga, but J. Prince clean up every mess I make

So like my quicker picker upper, that’s my bounty nigga

My piss dirty but I ain’t smoke, just weed in my brownies nigga

You don’t wan' rump with me, I’m riding with that big gun

My fifty caliber shoot so far, I call that bitch my Vince Young

If it’s really time to merk you homie, I ain’t gon need a rehearsal homie

Cause it ain’t gon be a commercial homie, it’s sex money and murder homie

Call me Vince Young homie, I got quarterback vision

I can see the 5−0's, when they blitzing

I see stick up kids, targeting Z-Ro for the sticking

So it’s pistols in every room, every bathroom and both kitchens

Better go long homie, cause you know I throw long homie

But, you don’t wanna catch this pass

Touchdown for the S.U.C., we soldiers united for cash

Touchdown like Reggie Bush on a break away, who gon catch my ass

I don’t know nobody that fast, whoo

I’m feeling so Pimp C right now, call me Ro-Chad

Yeah your diamonds shine but not like mine, homie that’s your bad

I ain’t even a materialistic guy, I don’t love money

But you might think I do cause I’ll murder you, if you try to take some from me

Look at you now, you can’t even have an open casket you dumb dummy

And I sleep real good every night, cause ain’t none of the bullets come from me

So don’t make me Floyd Mayweather Jr. your ass

Like I was 147 pounds, one hundred AK-47 rounds sit down

I’m official, like a referee whistling tougher than bone grissle

Put so much lead in your ass, you can be your own pencil

Z-Ro the Crooked King of the Ghetto, yeah homie that’s my name

And I’m healthy as a motherfucker, with seventy carats up in my chain

Now I ain’t never been to 106th &Park, and sat on the couch

But I’m a legend in this rap, in the South (ah-choo)

Excuse me I’m allergic to bitch niggaz, I’m bitch niggaz intolerant

So my stomach cr&up, whenever I run into bitch niggaz

I’m rolling in my Kobe Bryant, on top of Deuce MacCallister’s

I’m always in a fo' do', but I ain’t never got no passengers

Good weed good drank, big money mayn

I don’t get along with ya’ll fellas, but I get money mayn

Most of the rappers in my city, wanna see me flop

Cause when I came back home from jail, that’s when all they shows stopped

I got quarterback vision, I ain’t never been sacked

And I don’t walk with fifty niggaz either, how you love that