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(feat. Foxy Brown, The Lox) |
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Yeah |
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Uhhh |
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[Foxy] |
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It's time for everybody |
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To get they muthafuckin' minds right |
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Cause it's about to go down |
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Straight like that |
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Oooh |
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Uhhh |
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Kid Capri |
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Ill Na Na |
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And the muthafuckin' L-O-X |
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That's right |
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[Chorus: Styles] |
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From the top of New York, where they be poppin' they corks |
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From the bottom of the slums, where they be poppin' they guns |
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Niggas that rock whips and get plenty of one's |
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But niggas goin' hand and hand, are havin' to run |
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The niggas that had cake and got sent up state |
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For the mother who lost the child and had to settle for weight |
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For those who up out the ghetto, but don't know how to skate |
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Guess you gotta live the life that has fallen to fate |
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[Sheek] |
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Aye yo, aye yo |
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Our shit contagious, so ya'll niggas try to quaratine us |
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Ya'll niggas shook up, and all that like Orange Juice is |
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My gun American, but my niggas got foreign enemies |
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Six cars between us, laced out |
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Half my money from the drug route, ya know how that goes |
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We into heavy metal plugs, and slum shit for the nose |
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Is Sheek Lucion, he better ball with a groupie on |
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My python, gettin' sex |
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In hotels with connect the rooms |
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Fill letter walk through on his ex |
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Jadakiss and Styles walk a pound up through a storm |
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Room service, bring 'em champagne with five matts on |
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>From most hated, to heavy rotated, forget it |
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Next stop is movies, ya'll check it when Blockbuster get it |
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Cheap-skates, sweatin' off pre-release dates |
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For Money, Power & Respect, on platnuim out the gates |
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>From Rusell Simmons to Puff, Lox and DMX copped it |
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Big time, we probably shoot this joint up on tropics |
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When we eat fish like whiteies |
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And bitches have all nighties |
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Suckin' dick, me I'm on some jail shit |
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Standing up, jerkin' off, while these hoes see these doubles click |
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[Chorus: Styles] |
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From the top of New York, where they be poppin' they corks |
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From the bottom of the slums, where they be poppin' they guns |
|
Niggas that rock whips and get plenty of one's |
|
But niggas goin' hand and hand, are havin' to run |
|
The niggas that had cake and got sent up state |
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For the mother who lost the child and had to settle for weight |
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For those who up out the ghetto, but don't know how to skate |
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Guess you gotta live the life that has fallen to fate |
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[Foxy Brown] |
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Uhh, uhh |
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Bet I salute all chicks that be gettin' them chips |
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Throw it up, for my bitches, that be poppin' that Crist' |
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Specially to the one's, who be ridin' that dick |
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And if the pussy bangin', hope it cop to a stick |
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And all my thorough chicks, who cried and lied for these cats |
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Out of twon, on a hound for these cats, ehh |
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Shit got dick, let 'em ground for these cats |
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And the crocodle Prada, satsh the pund for these cats |
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Me and my bitches got down for these cats |
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Paid our dues, for 62's, taped to the top |
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Seen the truth through the lie, but the bullshit is fine |
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Like a trooper, I put that one the life that I ride |
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Guilty charges, straight copped out the 3-5 |
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Now fucking my crew, suffer and die |
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Maximum 25, baby fuck if I fry |
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It's a ditry game, when it come to slingin' them thangs |
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Bail like a hundered-thou, but the us is more change |
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Shit, i used to trick that from jewels and the rings, huh |
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[Chorus: Styles] |
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From the top of New York, where they be poppin' they corks |
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From the bottom of the slums, where they be poppin' they guns |
|
Niggas that rock whips and get plenty of one's |
|
But niggas goin' hand and hand, are havin' to run |
|
The niggas that had cake and got sent up state |
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For the mother who lost the child and had to settle for weight |
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For those who up out the ghetto, but don't know how to skate |
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Guess you gotta live the life that has fallen to fate |
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[Styles] |
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Fred one, for niggas that be bustin' they gun |
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Till the death, what'd you expect for a couple of one's |
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Fred two, for niggas that ain't ever had shit |
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Messed up, locked down, go on and grab shit |
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Fred three, for niggas on lock without a key |
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That ain't never comin' home, but you know how it be |
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Livin' to die, but niggas ain't willin' to die |
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If you bust up in the air, you ain't killin' the sky |
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Feelin' the high, nigga is you willin' to lie |
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You a crumb and you dumb, you ain't stealin' the pie |
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I leave a bloody mess, nigga bigger then me, cut his neck |
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Lox brothers, ya'll niggas is cock-suckers |
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Yellow belly cowards, I want Money and the Power |
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Assassin, you think it's a joke, you'll die laughing |
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Hoppin' out the plane, and only bring the captain |
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Start of a legacy, a hard broke down and start beggin' me |
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Dog I'm a whole different pedigree |
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Take me to the limit, I'm layin' in the cut |
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While you playin' in the scrimage |
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Meet you at the final |
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Lyrically, I'm spiritually, drunkier then a winow |
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Posion, house full of rhyme |
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Bring your boys in |
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Tell 'em take it easy, have a seat on the couch |
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I'm the govenor, ya'll bitch niggas is crowds |
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Take orders, we need passports at the border |
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Transport the water, sheerest corner |
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Fell sick to be hit, but we wasn't the cure |
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Make your ear-drums pop, probably lick drop |
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Eyes slinch up, leaves hit the foor by the time he spits up |
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Nobody gets up |
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Muthafuckas |
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L-O-X muthafucka |
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L-O-X, try this shit |
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[Chorus: with ad-libs] |
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From the top of New York, where they be poppin' they corks |
|
From the bottom of the slums, where they be poppin' they guns |
|
Niggas that rock whips and get plenty of one's |
|
But niggas goin' hand and hand, are havin' to run |
|
The niggas that had cake and got sent up state |
|
For the mother who lost the child and had to settle for weight |
|
For those who up out the ghetto, but don't know how to skate |
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Guess you gotta live the life that has fallen to fate |
