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​The Best Out

This song is by The Diplomats and appears on the album More Than Music, Volume 1 (2005).

(Hell Rell)
Okay, okay, okay
Yes sir
Hell Fuckin' Rell,
J.R. Writer, Forty
This is how we do it
I am one of a kind (yeah)
Its now or never nigga
Times up muthafucka
Let's do this

(Hell Rell)
Aiyo, I stop paying for coke, get bricks on the muscle
Gorillas on they bullshit, Welcome to the jungle
Fiends get served in the hallway, welcome to the hustle
Where bitches do anything for a hit of that glass dick,
When I'm outta town, nothing less than a half brick,
One-Sixty on the dash nothing less than a fast whip,
I floss when its sunny, got money for a rainy day,
In the dope spot a few blocks from where the Yankees play,
Man I'm heavy in that BX borough, We ain't gotta front for nobody,
We just thorough, and I'm sittin' on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles,
Took my advance and got my strip poppin' with them nickels.
And when I'm in ya neighborhood, you gotta go hide,
Deliver bullets to ya door like them Domino pies nigga,
Say hello to my little friend like scarface,
I pull that fuckin' rifle right out the guitar case

(Chorus: Bezel)
Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out
Jones the kuffe smacker, He bringing them techs out
Sporty-style, Forty Cal, He bringing corvettes out
Bezel the Beast but I still show you what fresh bout
You know who shavin the grams, 40k on the hand
Killa Nigga, what more can I say about Cam,
J.R. the Writer of writers and Santana,
Back like cooked crack
He even supplying suppliers

(J.R. Writer)

Dipset, let's do it man

The type that I'm tighter, tight 'cause I'm writer
Write 'cause I'm nicer, site for the lifers
Knifes in the cipher, writers a viper,
Listen this is butter,
Even ringling brothers see I got the eye of the tiger
Before I met killa cam, I was dealing killa grams
I mean killer grams, throws a tan, fill a pan
Recorded in the hole, where you couldn't chill or stand
No booth, microphone hangin' off the ceiling fan
Mass million fan sittin' in the belly hilton
Watch how I heavy kills him, bessey, chevy, desi fill em
But I still ain't break a sweat, yes I'm chillin',
Veet wong, seat wrong, tito gonna bet the building
I been grind to lean, sniff lines for fiends,
Grams chopped, tan rock, I pitch lima beans
Piff grind was mean, had 'em dumb stuck,
So when I say uncut, I don't mean behind the scenes

(40 Cal)
40
Yo I'm a NY G like Jeremy Shockey,
Come through drop my coupe like I meant to be sloppy
I got DJ's kickin karate,
'Cause they throw my wax on and take your wax off like Mr. Myagi
Pimpin', I'm cocky, I slap your broad on the cheek
And send her home barefooted, you massaging her feet
You probably go down on a freak, you're hardly a meat
But we ain't mad cause your proving, you are what you eat
Your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something
Need a plate in ya grill like a toaster oven
Fuck it, they even got dojas frontin
Shakin your cola, only time your coke was bubbling cousin
Cal get weight wit no problemo
Ride around ya block, sell it out the car window
And ya moms been know, that I chop rocks
That make your father cop like Carl Winslow