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cosa nostra - jo-b€€zy lyrics

[intro]
in nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sancti. michael rizzi, go in peace and may the lord be with you. amen

[verse 1: j-bankrollz]
get ready for the lawsuit, because we got da
and you already know that jb and jb don’t like to play
the tings that cuzzo mess with make your girl look like a four
that won’t stop po$tman from bringing his package to her door
pretty flacko in the flesh like the bay kid gerald
and the kid is educated, even read the calgary herald
magic with the bars, i could fool penn & teller
and i could scoop your girl blind like my name helen keller
this is our cosa nostra, it’s a family affair
the whole game runs when b€€zy, bank and po$t appear
regicide boys, here to claim the game’s crown
basquiat painting, turn the box to red from brown
satisfied with nothing, fed but never full
the way i focus on the red exactly like a bull
but i am the k!ller, and when i knock on your door
i bust through the frame and gore the d-mn matador
jo-b€€zy makes moves like his name c breezy
we rep the 403 like the bay gets repped by g-eazy
if she tries to caspar on me, i give her a fright
when i jackson pollock, boy, i only use white, yeah

[verse 2: jo-b€€zy]
you know d-mn well who it is right now
yeah, b€€zy, v. 2, squad up, yeah
where my squad at? you know where my squad at
we come in packs, grat-tat-tat, lay your squad flat
my congregation run the nation, we don’t turn back
my dogs run up just like dalmatians, make that bone crack
man, y’all so wack, for real though
every time i see your crew, i see a bunch of real hoes
they be talkin’ “gang, gang” on the instagram
but if they meet my posse, they’ll be dead in an instant fam
man we boolin’ in the city, you already seein’ us
we comin’ back, resurrection like it’s … geez, uh
young b€€zy come ready, my man’s got the heat
the caps make him sing like a frickin’ frank sinatra symphony
y’all the epitome of stupid
po$tman, b€€zy and bankrollz, three parts, we the trilogy
if you ain’t ready, we’ll flip you over like some eggs benny
leave you in the dust, and you weepin’ miserably, woah

[verse 3: po$tman]
actin’ tough on the ‘gram, but you just a bunch of clowns
take the grill out your t–th, turn your smiles into frowns
look around, it is clear that i’m top dog in this town
your girl calls me king, but there’s no need to wear a crown
expand your mind, if you want to get up on my level
all up in my greatness but there ain’t no time to revel
securin’ my spot on the top, on the daily
your girl asked me to chill, and i said “maybe”
comin’ at me? gotta ask, what are you doin’?
comin’ at the king will only lead to your ruin
don’t keep track of body count ’cause i do not care
move along with caution, ’cause there’s no mercy for me to spare
you do this for money, i do this for the power
just ask your girl, ’cause the taste i left was sour
bullets fly, people die, clip on automatic
i’ma haunt you for life, you can call it post-traumatic

- jo beezy lyrics

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