[Reks]
Now Folks listen here, R-E-K-S.
Yo, we done trekked from the east coast.
Get up from my dawg in San Francisco on this Gunz Still Hot Remix.
Rasco, Ed O.G., livin' legends in the game,
barkin' wit' one of the young dawgs.
We about to set it like this, c'mon.
[Ed O.G.]
If the suns still hot, then my guns still hot
You number one wit a bullet, wit just one shot
ass-backwards, I'm a dog spelled backwards
Who puff backwards wit tan timbs and black hoods
You gangsta, but testifying for immunity
Write your eulogy, time to close your window of opportunity
Ya career is over for major damages
Cheap labels, whack records, weak managers
Amateurs, pros get paid a fee
Niggas love the game so much they play for free
Talk shit behind my back but won't say it to me
Rasco and Reks, now which asshole is next
Ed O.G. is Boston bound
You lost ya skills and lost ya sound, now they at the lost and found
We so hot we take cold shower
get it on for hours, compare your shit to ours...c'mon
[Rasco - Hook 2X]
Ayo, we spit it, you cats better get wit it
Nuttin' but cash man, we stay fresh-fitted
If niggas is layed out then Rasco did it
Find me at the spot wit the guns still hot
[Reks]
I spit 16 bars of the deadliest paragraphs
Take the rap game, divide it by one, and then shatter half
Use the other half for target practice
Every rap cat wit a pad and pen or iron horses turn corks to ashes
Rasco sent to spit, my gun hot wit the clip
Pistol [???], make ya heart pump, jump and then skip
R E K S wit adrenaline scripts
Keep it rockin' like the pendulum twitch, past millennium tick
Continuous wit, the coast to coast
flows to ya throat, flows you can quote
Alls toe to toe, ready for war, my south paw will pop ya confetti jaw
This ya first taste of Reks dawg, you'll get many more
Rollin' wit two vets, and you bet we armed
I don‘t do threats, when I bark wit the dawgs I bring it on
You whack cats ya lifelines up so beg Regis
If you could make just one more call to the Lord Jesus
[Hook 2X]
[Rasco]
My six-shooter can shoot from all ways, hotter than the sun
For some we get dumb, you know where we from
C-A-B-A-Y the area
Ras' lock it down like a pitbull terrier
My Beantown recruits, rockin' black suits
For all of these whack groups, cause nigga we bout loot
You want proof? I speaks nuttin' but truth
255 feet and get shot off the roof
I be the hitman for grands
Nuttin less than the franks and grands in the hand, reppin' for San Fran
My plan is this, expand the list
Travel the globe and take the world off hold
Spit cold, my ice is froze quite nice
For that price I'm ready to pull that heist
We still precise, pin-point ya joint
Remove the groove, blown outta ya shoes
I can never lose, I bruise tracks for stacks
of them green backs, have me a drink and lean back
and think of all them times I blew those spots
Cover ya knot because the guns still hot
