Sunday, December 12, 2004
lil weavah - home team
i get a qp for two twenty five
then i break em down to ounces and it's sixteen dimes
four hundred dollar profit with no givin or takin
everytime i flip a quarter i invest what i'm makin
do it twice in seven days and it's eight hundred a week
this a little hustle, ain't no way i'm out there runnin the streets
cause i grew up around trap stars with ounces and birds
i mean them niggas ran the projects, water house and the burbs
i seen how to catch a lick, take a nigga brick, chop your keys into ps and let em go for six
but these niggas be robbin so quick by the time you try to re-up they stick you for ya kicks
i always been the littlest thing on the block with an ounce
remember back in 99 we was trappin at the bounce
we was comin out the trunk with a pretty good amount
askin how much can you pay, sayin how much can you count
ran with the biggest dope boys the city ever seen
harris homes, zone 1, niggas sellin hella green
fillin up with green cause i never fuck with crack
and we made a couple stacks so we'd always carry gats
round here it get dirty, we got paid off what the cops sell
movin weight to college park on out to scottsdale
a nigga thinkin bout robbin, watch the glock
tell him, it spell him, THE HELL WITH HIM CAUSE HE GETTIN SHOT NOW *BLADOW*
the only shit i heard out atlanta all summer other than the obvious major label dudes was unlaced filas white tees talent show crunk getting huge off blown up regional singles and getting sold out best buys, making hundred thousandaires out of the boys of summer. but weavah's running georgia right now, twenty years old and coming out of southwest atlanta with the number one independent album in the state, co-signed by t.i., the whole p$c, jazze pha, d. banner, all the mixtape heavyweights in atlanta, and pac's sister! the next to blow out the south.
he's got the big, rough hooks done in freshly broken teenaged voice, working the accent, shouting about he's got ounces for sale (his deal is he sells green instead of white) and he's about to bust your shit. and he's got the lyrical southerner shit, studied t.i. and ball&g and bun&pimp, coming with rim metaphors and drug math and autobiography:
it all started when i was fifteen and used to walk home right after school
football season was over so we was actin a fool
but i stayed cool until the day i spotted some dudes
posted on the corner with some rocks and a tool
now they tried fronting me some green
but the block ain't for me
and plus i don't wanna get kicked off the team
so it's cool but i'm realizing i'm always broke
thinking about all the dope that folk around here smoke
but folk round here, man they just look and sell the best weight
cause they get caught and go to jail and then they bail the next day
see, on the west side we lookin for jumpout vans
they put me out on the block to be the watchout man
flips that rise in the game shit better than anyone out right now, sounding old and thorough despite thin mustache and nasal twang, doing the same street economics knowledge as t.i., telling the kids to invest the profits from that brick and build yourself and your community up. he keeps it specific, giving dates and locations and names and convincing you of the shit but keeping it natural and loose and avoiding the slow, read-along t.i. sort of style. and still sounding natural on the club/girls/cars joints.
he's got the hard, grimy atlanta beats. tinny robotic snares + shiny keyboards + militant bass blasts you need at least ten inches and a couple hundred watts in your trunk to feel properly + one trick per track (distorted vocal sample scratched in OR roaring fiery furnace rush on the hook OR sproingy guitar jerk off OR sighing dj paul/juicy j scared shitless fake violin shit (he also uses their scary devil voice on a track) OR hollow church choir hook singers).
home team is kind of halfway between a mixtape and a regular album. he's got some freestyles that have been on other mixtapes (a break bread freestyle [amazing doubletime flow, exhausting to listen to], one on that jae millz no, no, no beat, one on you don't want drama).
(best tracks:
just breathe. weavah spitting heavy, dripping game over nothing but angels exhaling and ticking snare. it's this bulletproof flow and sexy and dirty as a motherfucker. crazy.
trapped. that autobiographical, coming up in the game track i was quoting above.
green 4 da low. with bohagon. those two verses at the top are from this. rocking that creepy three six sort of beat and doing the drug math shit that i love.
they scared. with xtaci, the p$c girlrappers.
hollywood. coming with spitters on minimal electro shit. sounding more like t.i. on this than anything else, but more raw, more loose. talking about how he still in the hood, still getting fucked over by police, still using his food stamps, still selling, still driving a le sabre. goofy, sung hook: I SAY FUCK HOLLYWOOD, I'MA STAY RIGHT HERE IN THE HOOD / SMOKIN ON THAT GOOD, SOLD AS MUCH GREEN AS I COULD.)
okay. so, he's one of the coldest in the south right now-- shit, one of the coldest in the whole rap game. i can't wait for him to get on tracks with the legends and the fresh cats. order that home team. listen to samples on iap-tv and order the shit. seven bucks!
i get a qp for two twenty five
then i break em down to ounces and it's sixteen dimes
four hundred dollar profit with no givin or takin
everytime i flip a quarter i invest what i'm makin
do it twice in seven days and it's eight hundred a week
this a little hustle, ain't no way i'm out there runnin the streets
cause i grew up around trap stars with ounces and birds
i mean them niggas ran the projects, water house and the burbs
i seen how to catch a lick, take a nigga brick, chop your keys into ps and let em go for six
but these niggas be robbin so quick by the time you try to re-up they stick you for ya kicks
i always been the littlest thing on the block with an ounce
remember back in 99 we was trappin at the bounce
we was comin out the trunk with a pretty good amount
askin how much can you pay, sayin how much can you count
ran with the biggest dope boys the city ever seen
harris homes, zone 1, niggas sellin hella green
fillin up with green cause i never fuck with crack
and we made a couple stacks so we'd always carry gats
round here it get dirty, we got paid off what the cops sell
movin weight to college park on out to scottsdale
a nigga thinkin bout robbin, watch the glock
tell him, it spell him, THE HELL WITH HIM CAUSE HE GETTIN SHOT NOW *BLADOW*
the only shit i heard out atlanta all summer other than the obvious major label dudes was unlaced filas white tees talent show crunk getting huge off blown up regional singles and getting sold out best buys, making hundred thousandaires out of the boys of summer. but weavah's running georgia right now, twenty years old and coming out of southwest atlanta with the number one independent album in the state, co-signed by t.i., the whole p$c, jazze pha, d. banner, all the mixtape heavyweights in atlanta, and pac's sister! the next to blow out the south.
he's got the big, rough hooks done in freshly broken teenaged voice, working the accent, shouting about he's got ounces for sale (his deal is he sells green instead of white) and he's about to bust your shit. and he's got the lyrical southerner shit, studied t.i. and ball&g and bun&pimp, coming with rim metaphors and drug math and autobiography:
it all started when i was fifteen and used to walk home right after school
football season was over so we was actin a fool
but i stayed cool until the day i spotted some dudes
posted on the corner with some rocks and a tool
now they tried fronting me some green
but the block ain't for me
and plus i don't wanna get kicked off the team
so it's cool but i'm realizing i'm always broke
thinking about all the dope that folk around here smoke
but folk round here, man they just look and sell the best weight
cause they get caught and go to jail and then they bail the next day
see, on the west side we lookin for jumpout vans
they put me out on the block to be the watchout man
flips that rise in the game shit better than anyone out right now, sounding old and thorough despite thin mustache and nasal twang, doing the same street economics knowledge as t.i., telling the kids to invest the profits from that brick and build yourself and your community up. he keeps it specific, giving dates and locations and names and convincing you of the shit but keeping it natural and loose and avoiding the slow, read-along t.i. sort of style. and still sounding natural on the club/girls/cars joints.
he's got the hard, grimy atlanta beats. tinny robotic snares + shiny keyboards + militant bass blasts you need at least ten inches and a couple hundred watts in your trunk to feel properly + one trick per track (distorted vocal sample scratched in OR roaring fiery furnace rush on the hook OR sproingy guitar jerk off OR sighing dj paul/juicy j scared shitless fake violin shit (he also uses their scary devil voice on a track) OR hollow church choir hook singers).
home team is kind of halfway between a mixtape and a regular album. he's got some freestyles that have been on other mixtapes (a break bread freestyle [amazing doubletime flow, exhausting to listen to], one on that jae millz no, no, no beat, one on you don't want drama).
(best tracks:
just breathe. weavah spitting heavy, dripping game over nothing but angels exhaling and ticking snare. it's this bulletproof flow and sexy and dirty as a motherfucker. crazy.
trapped. that autobiographical, coming up in the game track i was quoting above.
green 4 da low. with bohagon. those two verses at the top are from this. rocking that creepy three six sort of beat and doing the drug math shit that i love.
they scared. with xtaci, the p$c girlrappers.
hollywood. coming with spitters on minimal electro shit. sounding more like t.i. on this than anything else, but more raw, more loose. talking about how he still in the hood, still getting fucked over by police, still using his food stamps, still selling, still driving a le sabre. goofy, sung hook: I SAY FUCK HOLLYWOOD, I'MA STAY RIGHT HERE IN THE HOOD / SMOKIN ON THAT GOOD, SOLD AS MUCH GREEN AS I COULD.)
okay. so, he's one of the coldest in the south right now-- shit, one of the coldest in the whole rap game. i can't wait for him to get on tracks with the legends and the fresh cats. order that home team. listen to samples on iap-tv and order the shit. seven bucks!
