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I gots no birth records, no next of kin |
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Know alotta mother****ers got no best friends |
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Know the weather checkin ten ten winds |
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A.M., first and fifteenth I'm layin at the check cash in |
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Think I'm playin, blink and I'm sprayin |
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Wrong move, ask yourself which leg you wan' lose |
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Cuz you gon lose |
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I cripple niggas, from the complex to simple niggas |
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Keep showin y'all with difficult this |
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Kept the world sayin dunn but never been to the bridge |
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What type of shit is that, fraudulence |
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But what's the cause of it |
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Nature came through, erasin all of it |
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Stop the presses, groupie niggas ask alotta questions |
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I repeat this is not a question |
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If you don't reply quick enough I gotta press 'em |
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Keep the glock by the intestines |
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38 waist, wit a belt |
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Regardless of your stats, you could catch a shaft |
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HOOK: |
| [2X] |
Believe me when I tell you this |
| [2X] |
Nothing y'all can do for me |
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I don't believe in selfishness |
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This time I want my crew to eat, my crew |
| [2X] |
We comin through a hundred strong |
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Comin wit a hundred miles, a hundred miles |
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Bumpin shit all summer long, bump that |
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You want it then and want it now |
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We want it now |
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[Verse 2] |
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Yo, ayo I rap for my niggas, and rap for the hoes |
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Rap when I'm gettin dressed, when I iron my clothes |
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Depressed, I kick raps that change your whole mood |
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It somehow, stick to your ribs like soul food |
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Rap for wheelchairs, rap for canes |
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Ace bandages and niggas wit sprains, stay limpin in pain |
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I rap for math, english, even rap for science |
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Gotta try to laugh, keep myself from cryin |
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I rap for Giants, the Jets, the Yankess, the Mets |
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It's New York, New York, from Clue to Flex |
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New cassettes stay poppin up |
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Your boo let me throw my cock in her |
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Rap it got me two proper nuts |
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It's crazy, I even rap for my high school coach |
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White folks feened out like in Michael Dotes |
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Green out, dope stashin, for those askin |
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I flow for TV, HBO in closed caption |
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HOOK |
|
[Verse 3] |
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Ayo, don't go to Texas, don't go to Watts |
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Don't go to Queensbridge nigga don't go to cops |
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Don't snitch when you gettin bagged |
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In the pens don't bitch when you gettin stabbed, just hold that |
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I pose for Kodaks, rose to stardom, hoes in Harvard |
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Sophomores get knocked off, nigga watch yours |
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I watch the game like in St. Johns |
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It aint wrong, take a blank piece of paper, a pen, paint songs |
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Type colorful, writin that shit a thug'll do |
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In the heat of the moment, type to make a sudden move |
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Some'll snooze, some'll snore |
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They won't admit that dunn is pure |
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Once I quit, niggas wanted more |
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Cop my shit once it come in store |
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The first week we at the top of the charts, got it jumpin off |
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Pop verses wit a hundred thoughts |
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One thing, gettin caught in my zone, you become a corpse |
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HOOK |
