Statik Selektah, Bun B, Conway the Machine and Ab-Soul - Ain't Too Much To It

(Statik Selektah)

Look, look, look
Raw in the pot, baking soda, I'm on my fourth box
Rip it 'til my wrist sore
Youngin' still wanna sniff more and kick doors
He don't wanna get rich, he wanna show you what his fit for
I know why these niggas pissed off
'Cause my kicks twelve hundred smelling like cookies in the Kith store
Don't give a fuck if nigga 5'2 or 6'4
I get ticked off, two-piece him and wire his jaw
A nigga violate he gotta die, it's law
I make a G call and niggas get off
Bay tiger, Wraith rider
Catch them niggas that was talkin' and burn 'em with AK fire
I don't know how it be in the bum field
Knew he was already snuffed, fuck it, I emptied out the drum still
Low top, the semis with the lock on ,em
Greenlight if you get the drop on 'em
Machine (ha)

'Cause it ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
Nah (nah)
Lil' smoke, lil' fluid (lil' smoke, lil' fluid)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
Nah (nah)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
If you knew better, then you'd do it (bitch)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
Nah

Started hustling during Bush Senior, got rich by Obama
Ran up in them traps with them straps like they came for Osama
So when the pressure got applied we ain't run from no drama
Just give us what we came for or get the stick to your
Now look, man
I am a gangster, not a criminal or a crook man
And I can take it hard or soft 'cause I can cook, man
So when the king gets killed and only the rook stands
I'll be knockin' on your door for the bread like Bookman
And you'll be Florida
So come on outside into this corridor
And give me that paper or meet the coroner
I ain't warning ya, you know my modus operandi
Just give up that damn pie or you, him and your man die
And I ain't takin' it from ya, you finna give it to me
'Cause the only way that you leaving here living is through me
Now matter fact, take off the jewelry and the shoes
I need that iced-out cuban link and them Chicago 2's
Now run it (ha)

'Cause it ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
Nah (nah)
Lil' smoke, lil' fluid (lil' smoke, lil' fluid)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
Nah (nah)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
If you knew better then you'd do it (bitch)
It ain't too much to it (it ain't too much to it)
(Ay, man) nah

I ain't gotta do shit but stay black and die
Tryna get rich as a motherfucker and stay fly, God (boom, boom, boom, boom)
I'm from the Westside, guns are like eyeballs
Let's face it, there's always a couple round like dating
Unc had the 6-trey on Daytons
He used to specialize in beating cases
Detectives pull up, no prints, no gloves
Just a John Doe and a pair of Gary Paytons
Good times
If y'all balling then I'm on the wrong court
You David and Goliaths only 5 foot 9
But you ain't bring your slingshot this time
So you don't want no problem at all little guy, nah
That's how the fuck you make a long story short
No need to read between the lines
Don't be a slave to a clock
Buss it down or keep it Plain Jane
In time you'll find
It'll all come back the same thing
Just watch
One minute you circling the block
Niggas catch you off your square
The next minute you in a box
Oh, the beat really stopped
I, I, I I kinda needed a snare
Or, or another one of them kicks or something, somewhere right there
What's up with this nigga, Statik, man?
Ayo, Jimmo
Ayo, ayo, ayo, Jimmo, let me hear that shit back real quick

Written by:
Bernard Freeman, Demond Price, Patrick Baril, Herbert Anthony Stevens IV

Publisher:
Lyrics © Reservoir Media Management, Inc.

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