The Best Out

[Verse 1: Hell Rell]
Ayo, I stopped 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 it's 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
And we ain't gotta front for nobody, we just thorough
And I'm sitting on an arsenal, rockets and the missiles
Took my advance and got my strip popping with them nickels
And when I'm in ya neighborhood, you gotta go high
Deliver bullets to ya door like I'm domino pies, nigga
Say hello to my little friend like Scarface
I pull that fucking rifle right out the guitar

[Hook: Bezel]
Dipset, the best out, Hell Rell, he fresh out
Jones the kufi smacker, he bringing them techs out
Sporty-style, 40 Cal, he bringing Corvettes out
Bezel the Beast, but I still show you what fresh 'bout
You know who shaving the grams, forty K on the hand
Killa, nigga, what more can I say about Cam?
JR the Writer of writers
And Santana back like cooked crack, he even supplying suppliers

[Verse 2: JR Writer]
The type that I'm tighter, tight cause I'm Writer
Write cause I'm nicer, site for the lifers
Knives in the cipher, Writer's 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 hanging off the ceiling fan
Mass million fan sitting in the Beverly Hilton
Watch how I heavy kills him, Bessey, Chevy, desi fill 'em
But I still ain't break a sweat, yes, I'm chilling
Veet bomb, 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

[Hook]

[Verse 3: 40 Cal]
Yo, I'm a NY G like Jeremy Shockey
Come through, drop my coupe like I meant to be sloppy
I got DJ's kicking karate
Cause they throw my wax on and take your wax off like Mr.Miyagi
Pimping, 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 you proving you are what you eat
Your squadron is weak, speak and get a broken something
We the plate in ya grill like a toaster oven, fuck it
They even got dojas frontin, shaking your cola
Only time your coke was bubbling, cousin
Cal get weight with no problemo
Ride around ya block selling out the car window
And ya moms been know, that I chop rocks
That make your father cop like Carl Winslow

[Hook]