You Won’t

"Fuck that, look at him, he’s nothing. The guy’s a piece of shit."
"You got a cigarette?"
"Jesus Christ, you killed, you fuckin-a killed him, he’s dead"

Haha, Diabolic, Asmatic, Cop Shop, Breath Easy Productions
We putting it down
Triple Optix, Falling Angels, Foul Play
We ain’t fucking around

[Verse 1:]

All I hear is cats runnin’ off at the mouth
When they don’t know what the fuck they talkin’ about
And Bolic show y’all, busting off a gat or two
‘Til I catch a few bullets and throw ‘em back at you
Don’t believe me, holla at me when you’re passing thru
1Huntington Station, 16th and New York Avenue
I’ll be there drunk, making fun of their songs
And ran for ‘em like H.I.V. airborn
I stand strong giving y’all faggots the truth
Clowning cats over what Asmatic produced
See Bolic never hesitate to say that you’re wack
Give my opinion, but now I’m a hater for that
In my mind all I’m doing is stating the facts
That I don’t believe shit that you say in your raps
But I can’t lie dawg, I’m still playing your tracks
So I can get a good laugh at the way that you act

Chorus:

You won’t, do the shit you say in your songs
Ain’t nobody here playing along
You won’t, do shit about me saying it
I’m Diabolic, who the fuck you think you playing with
[2X]

[Verse 2:]

Okay, yo, I smoke a pack a day, plus eight blunts
With the breath control of eight lungs attached to the same tongue
I ate crumbs, paid dues, and made moves
Then made your wife give me pussy and brain too
If you meet me, I ain’t no shameless actor
I’ll go from your favorite rapper to most hated after
I ain’t faking jacks to gain a fan base
I’m drinkin’ patron, spittin’ in a fan’s face
I can’t take all these cats ?? and watch <–(?)
‘Til I make them buy my album then buy me a shot
I’ve got my hands full of cards you can’t pull
So I pop shit, like Ja Rule’s stool sample
I laugh at hype, ’cause when I grab the mic
I got these pussies on my dick like hermaphrodites
You faggots write lies when you go in the booth
Well I’m right here drunk still knowing the truth

[Chorus]

[Verse 3:]

I don’t know what’s worse, Eminem sayin’ some thug raps
Or having to deal with Mace makin’ a comeback
Everybody touch gats, and have to say they pull it
Couldn’t bust a shot, ejaculating bullets
Now the game’s alligator shirts and trucker hats
And I’m on the sideline, like what the fuck is that
You’ll get stuck for stacks, yeah I’ll run your pockets
Now go tell all your friends you got sunk by Bolic
Gotta gun then pop it, if not stop lying
I never believe you’d actually pop iron
I don’t give a fuck like a prostitute
If you claim to cock and shoot with cops in hot pursuit
I’m the top recruit, taking over the game
You don’t know shit about me, all you know is my name
Diabolic, mothafuckers know I’ve been raw
When I begin tour do a cop shop in store

[Chorus]