|
(feat. Buddah Bless, Eyeslow, Ghostface Killah, Hot Flame) |
|
[Ghostface Killah] |
|
Walked up in the party like Riz', Ghost, Meth |
|
Allah's on the wheels, Chef on the left |
|
Fifty rep chin ups, the Wu rims up |
|
Put down the Heine' for a sec, tie my Timb's up |
|
Cake the Benz up, Starks ole' |
|
Got the summer house crib, beats spun, murder you, than lay |
|
Ric Flair cabbage and carrots, big exotic boat trips |
|
The honey motion, wind up in Paris |
|
[Chorus: Ghostface Killah] |
|
Had a bad dream and it came to me |
|
That I died and went to heaven, ain't have no weed |
|
God said "Son, let me see your ID" |
|
(Buddah Bless) gotta be right behind me |
|
Which reminds me.. |
|
[Buddah Bless] |
|
B, I'm just a thug |
|
After hip hop, money, sex and drugs |
|
After chicks that got money and tech's with slugs |
|
You see the head to toe, yo, the way I dress is love |
|
Plus them nine bang quick |
|
And the hand game speak for itself |
|
Like sign language, you lost and shook |
|
Like the fish that got away, man, I'm off the hook |
|
When these niggaz gotta pay, get it off the books |
|
[Masta Killa] |
|
Yo, knocked on a humble, slid through the system |
|
Bag me a C-Wall, on the bench of the bullpen |
|
My speaker for the pillow, my locked down presidents |
|
Conflictors, for the robbers and jukkers |
|
The buck fifty stitch zippers, if you wit us |
|
From my Chi-Town thugs to my Killa Cali gangstas |
|
Minnesota Wolves, Philly Six shooters |
|
We ain't chuck potent, we off money throw up |
|
[T-Slugz] |
|
It don't mean nothing to me |
|
Ya'll can't get nothing from me, stop frontin' from me and |
|
Ya'll ain't got nothing for me |
|
I take you where you want it to be, I'm who you wanted to see |
|
And I'm that same dude, that came through |
|
Runnin' with the same crew, still here, reppin' all the same rules |
|
CD's easy to move, honey say I'm easy to choose, that ain't easy to you |
|
And I stand out, big time, y'all easy to lose |
|
Niggaz face all screwed, I'm just breakin' the news |
|
And we do this for the cash, still keep a stash in a brown paper bag |
|
Me and my nigga Mad, light skinned, dark skinned, we lovin', what an ass |
|
Slow that thing down, ma, you movin' too fast |
|
[Panama P.I.] |
|
Yo, you movin' to fast |
|
Watch P.I., throw the shit on smash |
|
This game is high risk, player |
|
Strictly for brick breakers and brick layers, spit razors |
|
Jewel gem star, ball with the players, who grab the rim hard |
|
Walk on dot, and it's the P on hard |
|
When it's off season, I bring the pain til your balls bleeding |
|
Quick as a Porsche speed, my niggaz floss frequent |
|
Catch us up in court reading, with a |
|
Couple of sons, that's used to hustlin' drums |
|
I guess that's the only way we double our funds |
|
Everything hardcore, when we slide in the door |
|
Wait til we go back on tour |
|
New exclusive joint, two thousand and - and |
|
[Chorus] |
|
[Eyeslow] |
|
I walk with crooks, love guns, married to gats |
|
That cali' detach, your back from that battery pack |
|
My salary stack, chain make these other niggaz hurl |
|
Yeah it's O and G, I'm O and P in other nigga's girl |
|
I ain't lovin' nigga's girl, I'm just training, just banging |
|
Just hanging, smokin' while my other nigga's twirl |
|
(It's a gutter nigga's world) I'm all about the cheddar, man |
|
Any problems you want, speak to my beretta, man |
|
[Hot Flames] |
|
I was taught from young, that, live is what you making it |
|
Stuck on the crooked road, but I was taught to straighten it |
|
Every track flamin' it, every gat, aimin' it |
|
Before I start sprayin' it, and then I start banging it |
|
Strong arm, I'm claimin' it, if I bring a chick to the crib |
|
And she ain't my wifey, then we clangin' it |
|
Spit hard, probably cuz I'm missing my fam |
|
If it's beef, y'all niggaz better 'dip' like Cam |
|
[Todd] |
|
Son, you get mine, get knocked, and then I just get time |
|
But I'mma hit the boy hard, just like you was a punchline |
|
You spit, oh shit, call this here, lunch time |
|
I'mma throw hot sauce all over that lunch rhyme |
|
Rap for days, that'll blow like grenades |
|
Flow so hot, it'll make 'em run for shade |
|
Nowadays, the D's gettin' niggaz, picked up |
|
So I hustle and sit up and let God big up |
|
Fag, they call me Betty, cuz I got that ready rock |
|
For any nigga that's ready to go inside the baker shop |
|
Money mean a lot so I keeps mine in the wall |
|
You the type that get a dollar and go and run to the store |
|
Not me, each dollar I get, I make a copy |
|
To let y'all know, for the love of this, I was the body |
|
Looks are deceiving, so I'm askin' y'all to try me |
|
Man was the one, who made hand guns a hobby |
|
[Chorus x2] |
