| I don't give a hell what you spit | |
| Who you are, where you from... | |
| This is...this is projects | |
| I don't give a hell what you spit | |
| Who you are, where you from | |
| And who the hell you be gettin' | |
| Urban wolves | |
| Dream team baby | |
| The sosa of the game has returned | |
| Brooklyn | |
| Black sopranos | |
| Let's play | |
| [Verse 1] | |
| Nice and smooth, white knights, icey jewels | |
| So cool, but the slightest shit ignite my fuels | |
| Love it low, stay in mine, attach semi | |
| Cuz its hard to enter rap just passin' by | |
| XK8, it's all good, the next they hate | |
| Was never the type of nigga that flexed his weight | |
| See, frontin just ain't my forte, I'm all foreplay | |
| Hoppin' out the porsche, drop products on graves | |
| My slow grind story niggas cosign for me | |
| Y'all slouch rappin' fake trash niggas' rhymes bore me | |
| Adore me, respect niggas way before me | |
| Since a shorty, in love wit big guns and orgies | |
| Engaged to it, guzzlin' that beige fluid | |
| Spazzin' like its the music that made me do it | |
| Move through it if you that thorough, I'm certified | |
| Through the grapevine, I know that niggas heard I'm live | |
| [Chorus] | |
| I don't give a hell what you spit | |
| Who you are, where you from... | |
| This is projects | |
| I don't give a hell what you spit | |
| Who you are, where you from | |
| And who the hell you be gettin' | |
| [Verse 2] | |
| Look, look, I be postered up like I'm toasted up nice | |
| Stop niggas from gettin' killed, broken up fights | |
| Blunted at the park jams, opened up mics | |
| Now its on us, in the ??? I focus on right | |
| Its hardball, now niggas can't call foul | |
| Y'all can't get wit me, I can't fall now | |
| Immune to the murderous plots | |
| Been about it way before niggas heard I was hot | |
| Heavy jewels, the type to keep the herb in the sock | |
| A fresh pair, and I **** wit them Germans a lot | |
| Let's play, pop bottles like its no tomorrow | |
| Ricky Ricardo, the young black Leonardo | |
| Part Spanish, my robe'll make the dark vanish | |
| Too complicated for y'all 85's, don't understand it | |
| Respect game, there's rules as a criminal | |
| So recognize I'm a five star general | |
| You touchin' who | |
| [Chorus] | |
| [Verse 3] | |
| Yo, yo, at time its hard illin', it kinda scars the feelings | |
| But what yall want from a game that's involved in millions | |
| Cars, and chillin', sex wit' they broads, but villain | |
| It could find a broke man, have him harm civilians | |
| Its like a larson and razor blades but robbers spinnin' | |
| Niggas runnin' from court tryna dodge they sentence | |
| The odds is endless, moms can't calm the menace | |
| Its like Saddam's in us, comin' fully armed for business | |
| Chrome pubelies, smoke great, two tone seventies | |
| Five miles on the same line, the zone is deadly | |
| Hope heaven got a ghetto for us | |
| In the hood, for the hustlers that bled before us | |
| Weep slow, soak in, feel the Schweppervesence | |
| Specialize foot notes for the adolescents | |
| Locked in, there's beef in the game now | |
| I know its deep but the streets know the name now | |
| The war is on | |
| [Chorus] |
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