DJ Khaled Ft Rob Cash, Styles P, Cassidy & Jim Jones – No Hook Lyrics

No Hook Lyrics by DJ Khaled Ft Rob Cash, Styles P, Cassidy & Jim Jones

[Intro: Jim Jones]
Jones!
You understand what’s going on right now?
Dipset, Bird Gang, some real Geed up shhit
Listen
305, all the way to the top
Eh Khaled, what’s good?

[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
Rocks like bolder game
Crazy upstate
Test the Rolls in the lane, racing up the A
We betting thousands on street corners
Roll the dice with police on us
Slow like the Henesy
Cold tonight, need the seat warmers
[?] slice [?]
[?]
4 door, welcome [?]
Heavy supercharger
Goods, no war
That’s for beginners, I’m living like a winner
[?]

[Verse 2: Styles P]
You don’t want a robbery, nobody trying me
Looking for some good in me, lil bit of god in me
Right now, whole lotta shit startin to bother me
Wanna see some vains spilled, shit load of arteries
Any rap motherfucker tryna say they hard as me
Tell the truth, I don’t know why these niggas start with me
I been in it now, fuck a semi
Get a rocket launcher, I better shoot your Bentley or your hand me downs
Khaled, you should warn them niggas, ad an extra listen on ‘m
Then figure out who make the paper that say “missing” for ‘m
Layin on the top, bigger than a fishing form
Go and get your whole crew, round up the craziest
Send them here, I’ll send them back and show you what the raiser did
We ain’t getting paper nigga, you can meet your maker nigga
Turn you purple and yello, just like a laker nigga

[Verse 3: Cassidy]
Any cat that rap, step to me, I’d catch a felony
I just beat a murder, what the fuck these niggas telling me?
I’m not into this rap shit, practicing infedelity
These [?]
I could still sell a key
I’m the hustler motherfucker, I could sell a tree
To the forest, the hardest niggas is with me
Mad cause they money is funny like Bill Belomy
And wanna put a shell in me, dog but it’s all jealousy
You smellin me, but you refuse to diss me
Cause I keep a tool that could fuckin remove a kidnie
I keep a 9, the same kind Shyne used for Diddy
Plus I keep the chopper, it pop when I crues the city
Just in case a nigga get wreckliss, try to test this
And I gotta knock out his breakfast out his intestines
Said I’m on his death list, I don’t care what niggas bout
If I hear a nigga mouth, then Imma air a nigga out

[Verse 4: Rob Cash]
My bro Khaled said “bring the heat”, birds think I got it, sweet
Cause I rode with Pistol Pete, my shit complete
I don’t take it, I make it, but you can’t
You can’t slip, can’t even kiss a freak in your Benz
Please don’t try to preach
You couldn’t even last a week in these damb streets
Cause you’ll catch dots on your face, like acney
Do this shit for fun, you better run like a track meet
Cause you don’t want the gun dumped on your tung like ass cheaks