| 歌曲 | What Makes Me |
| 歌手 | Philly's Most Wanted |
| 专辑 | Get Down Or Lay Down |
| 作词 : A. B. Holly/J. Witherspoon/K. Edwards/R. Taylor | |
| 作曲 : A. B. Holly/J. Witherspoon/K. Edwards/R. Taylor | |
| See.. most wanted.. its the epitome of this rap shit **** yea | |
| Get it.. m-r-dot.. m-a-n (we bring it to anybody that want it) | |
| B-double-o-n-i-c | |
| (Cause we real.. check the stats).. mista man.. boo-bonic | |
| (Chorus) | |
| What makes you a thug nigga | |
| The sounds of guns bustin adrenaline pumpin | |
| and don't give a **** about nothin | |
| What makes you a killa | |
| The feelin that I get when I touch somethin | |
| or how I give it to anybody that want somethin | |
| What makes you a smart nigga | |
| How I got rid of the hammer.. | |
| and got a one way ticket down to Atlanta | |
| What makes you a rich nigga | |
| The fact that I'm not a bitch nigga.. | |
| I do it solo ain't worried bout a snitch nigga | |
| (Boo) | |
| I'm the one who can stand the hit and fry somethin | |
| **** rap you wanna see if I'm real? try somethin | |
| A g-a-n-g-s-t-e-r we are known to leave a nigga in the E.R. | |
| B-double-o-n..-i-c nigga.. actionious style leave you in a creek nigga | |
| Teenager.. you ain't ever seen stranger | |
| Iced up cell phone triple A pager | |
| Ny blood boil.. easily hate cause agility freezin me hoes never teasin me | |
| Think I'm here to amuse you? I crack you the **** up? | |
| I'll put out my steel and ill smack you the **** up | |
| Thug baby.. I gotta head for the streets | |
| You gotta head for business well that's dead when we meet | |
| Cause one shot ill have all your business in the streets | |
| Comin out slow like a ****in loosely | |
| Close your eyes gotta surprise I dare you to peep | |
| I put the tec in your mouth now I dare you to speak | |
| Niggas under pressure look they back sweatin | |
| Try me? That's a gamble that lack bettin | |
| (Chorus) | |
| (Mr.) | |
| Mister Man keep a clip wit 50 in it | |
| Have ya clique like.. "That's between y'all we ain't in it" | |
| Wish my squad would say that we don't even play dat | |
| Like you talk fly and all we jus lay back | |
| Talkin about what you do to me nigga now why you say dat | |
| My clique jet out rounds for y'all they don't play dat | |
| All about loadin and cock and start spittin | |
| Here's somethin scream **** y'all niggas and start dippin | |
| Hit the bar to relieve my stress and start sippin | |
| And get outta town before the cops start trippin | |
| We don't play.. we don't care | |
| I'll kill you.. right hand to god I swear | |
| See myself on the run before I see any jail | |
| Can't see myself callin home for bail | |
| (I promise you the pain is almost over one more verse mother****ers) | |
| (Chorus) | |
| (Mr.) | |
| It only take one thing for mister man to come spark ya | |
| If my doe light I got to make shit darker | |
| Runnin.. leave you wit a wheel chair or a walker | |
| Persuade me to chill? you must be a fly talker | |
| You heard this before.. I'm in your crib waitin | |
| Two things for you.. glock no patience | |
| Seese what beef? that shit means nathan | |
| Thugs don't talk we just ride till we die | |
| Drink till we drunk.. smoke till we high | |
| Pop till it clack.. push wigs back | |
| Put the gun in your mouth and say point where it's at | |
| The ice wrist shit nigga come on about dat | |
| (Aiyyo I love my kids mister!).. I don't doubt that | |
| I gotta eat too nigga how about dat | |
| For that ransome doe.. kids get kidnapped | |
| Your wife act crazy wife get smacked | |
| Your clique don't like it your clique get clapped | |
| or I cock back just to throw flames | |
| In case you got a urge to snitch and drop names | |
| Leave you open minded nigga wit no brains | |
| Shame.. your man was slippin I shot 'em | |
| Callin.. tellin my dog I got 'em | |
| Hit 'em up top and work my way down bottom | |
| Want it wit Mister Man? See nigga that's a problem | |
| (Chorus) - repeat 'til fade |
| zuò cí : A. B. Holly J. Witherspoon K. Edwards R. Taylor | |
| zuò qǔ : A. B. Holly J. Witherspoon K. Edwards R. Taylor | |
| See.. most wanted.. its the epitome of this rap shit yea | |
| Get it.. mrdot.. man we bring it to anybody that want it | |
| Bdoubleonic | |
| Cause we real.. check the stats.. mista man.. boobonic | |
| Chorus | |
| What makes you a thug nigga | |
| The sounds of guns bustin adrenaline pumpin | |
| and don' t give a about nothin | |
| What makes you a killa | |
| The feelin that I get when I touch somethin | |
| or how I give it to anybody that want somethin | |
| What makes you a smart nigga | |
| How I got rid of the hammer.. | |
| and got a one way ticket down to Atlanta | |
| What makes you a rich nigga | |
| The fact that I' m not a bitch nigga.. | |
| I do it solo ain' t worried bout a snitch nigga | |
| Boo | |
| I' m the one who can stand the hit and fry somethin | |
| rap you wanna see if I' m real? try somethin | |
| A gangster we are known to leave a nigga in the E. R. | |
| Bdoubleon.. ic nigga.. actionious style leave you in a creek nigga | |
| Teenager.. you ain' t ever seen stranger | |
| Iced up cell phone triple A pager | |
| Ny blood boil.. easily hate cause agility freezin me hoes never teasin me | |
| Think I' m here to amuse you? I crack you the up? | |
| I' ll put out my steel and ill smack you the up | |
| Thug baby.. I gotta head for the streets | |
| You gotta head for business well that' s dead when we meet | |
| Cause one shot ill have all your business in the streets | |
| Comin out slow like a in loosely | |
| Close your eyes gotta surprise I dare you to peep | |
| I put the tec in your mouth now I dare you to speak | |
| Niggas under pressure look they back sweatin | |
| Try me? That' s a gamble that lack bettin | |
| Chorus | |
| Mr. | |
| Mister Man keep a clip wit 50 in it | |
| Have ya clique like.. " That' s between y' all we ain' t in it" | |
| Wish my squad would say that we don' t even play dat | |
| Like you talk fly and all we jus lay back | |
| Talkin about what you do to me nigga now why you say dat | |
| My clique jet out rounds for y' all they don' t play dat | |
| All about loadin and cock and start spittin | |
| Here' s somethin scream y' all niggas and start dippin | |
| Hit the bar to relieve my stress and start sippin | |
| And get outta town before the cops start trippin | |
| We don' t play.. we don' t care | |
| I' ll kill you.. right hand to god I swear | |
| See myself on the run before I see any jail | |
| Can' t see myself callin home for bail | |
| I promise you the pain is almost over one more verse mother ers | |
| Chorus | |
| Mr. | |
| It only take one thing for mister man to come spark ya | |
| If my doe light I got to make shit darker | |
| Runnin.. leave you wit a wheel chair or a walker | |
| Persuade me to chill? you must be a fly talker | |
| You heard this before.. I' m in your crib waitin | |
| Two things for you.. glock no patience | |
| Seese what beef? that shit means nathan | |
| Thugs don' t talk we just ride till we die | |
| Drink till we drunk.. smoke till we high | |
| Pop till it clack.. push wigs back | |
| Put the gun in your mouth and say point where it' s at | |
| The ice wrist shit nigga come on about dat | |
| Aiyyo I love my kids mister!.. I don' t doubt that | |
| I gotta eat too nigga how about dat | |
| For that ransome doe.. kids get kidnapped | |
| Your wife act crazy wife get smacked | |
| Your clique don' t like it your clique get clapped | |
| or I cock back just to throw flames | |
| In case you got a urge to snitch and drop names | |
| Leave you open minded nigga wit no brains | |
| Shame.. your man was slippin I shot ' em | |
| Callin.. tellin my dog I got ' em | |
| Hit ' em up top and work my way down bottom | |
| Want it wit Mister Man? See nigga that' s a problem | |
| Chorus repeat ' til fade |