Quarterback Vision Lyrics – Z-Ro
Singer: Z-Ro
Title: Quarterback Vision
Uh homie, you don’t really want me to shine
Like Boston George, ain’t wanna give up his connect to Diego
You the type of n#gg# that wanna come up, but want me to stay low
The day I leave this b#tch in a body bag, is what you pray fo’
But I’m still living and ya’ll haters get mo’ mad, with every breath I take
Sometime I might spill a n#gg#, but J. Prince clean up every mess I make
So like my quicker picker upper, that’s my Bounty n#gg#
My piss dirty but I ain’t smoke, just weed in my brownies n#gg#
You don’t wanna run up on me, I’m riding with that big gun
My fifty caliber shoot so far, I call that b#tch my Vince Young
If it’s really time to merk you homie, I ain’t gon need a rehearsal homie
Cause it ain’t gon be a commercial homie, it’s sex money and murder homie
Call me Vince Young homie, I got quarterback vision
I can see the 5-0’s, when they blitzing
So it’s pistols in every room, every bathroom and both kitchens
Better go long homie, cause you know I throw long homie
But, you don’t wanna catch this pass
Touchdown for the S.U.C., we soldiers united for cash
Touchdown like Reggie Bush on a break away, who gon catch my #ss
I don’t know nobody that fast, whoo
I’m feeling so Pimp C right now, call me Ro-Chad (b#tch!)
Yeah your diamonds shine but not like mine, homie that’s your bad
I ain’t even a materialistic guy, I don’t love money
But you might think I do cause I’ll murder you, if you try to take some from me
Look at you now, you can’t even have an open casket you dumb dummy
And I sleep real good every night, cause ain’t none of the bullets come from me
So don’t make me Floyd Mayweather Jr. your #ss
Like I was 147 pounds, one hundred AK-47 rounds sit down
I’m official, like a referee whistling tougher than bone gristle
Put so much lead in your ass, you can be your own pencil
And I’m healthy as a m#th*rf#ck*r, with seventy carats up in my chain
Now I ain’t never been to 106th & Park, and sat on the couch
But I’m a legend in this rap, in the South (ah-choo)
Excuse me I’m allergic to b#tch n#gg#s, I’m b#tch n#gg#s intolerant
So my stomach cramp up, whenever I run into b#tch n#gg#s
I’m rolling in my Kobe Bryant, on top of Deuce MacCallister’s
I’m always in a fo’ do’, but I ain’t never got no passengers
Good weed good drank, big money mayne
I don’t get along with ya’ll fellas, but I get money mayn
Most of the rappers in my city, wanna see me flop
Cause when I came back home from jail, that’s when all they shows stopped
I got quarterback vision, I ain’t never been sacked
And I don’t walk with fifty n#gg#s either
How you love that
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Lyrics Z-Ro – Quarterback Vision
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