|
It's a brand nu' playa comin' to town |
|
So turn the babies [???] in a [???], mayn |
|
The message is clear, let's get down |
|
It's a brand nu' playa comin' to town |
|
[Verse 1: Baby Beesh] |
|
Now it's about to be on, it's about to be on |
|
Chicano like a motherfucker, chop in you dome |
|
I'm curvin' off the Hennessey and I pull off that weed |
|
I'm strikin' through this motherfucker loaded and keyed |
|
Laced up tight, now what you know about - that? |
|
I come in peace, but now the hammers' still cought back |
|
Baby Beesh, can you like that tree? |
|
When everybody wanna smoke with me? |
|
[Verse 2: Jay Tee] |
|
Now when I step up on the scene, you know I'm whipped and g'd up |
|
Playa Jay Tee be gett'n ripped 'n keyed up |
|
To turn you beat up, and let me find the hoe |
|
Three cops, some indo', and grind some mo' |
|
Then go to Liquor store, no need to ride foo' |
|
'Couse we gon' parkin'-lot pimpin' till they slide trough |
|
I'm in that light brown prown with the kicks to match |
|
And be the first young hustla to bomb a batch |
|
[Refrain x2] |
|
[Verse 3: Jay Tee] |
|
Now I'ma sellin' game for whoever got some bread on he |
|
And bomb that brogous, as long as she got some head on me |
|
I'm sittin' fat on it, at all the time that I will pimp it |
|
Lookin' just like my daddy, though without the limpin' |
|
I would be simpin', but never meet a salamanasier [<--?] |
|
I worse ride, High-Side and tried to elevate ya |
|
Educate ya |
|
Tell you 'bout my history |
|
I'm Jay Tee, the fuckin' player of the century |
|
[Verse 4: Baby Beesh] |
|
I got that bomb to leave you motherfuckers cotton-mouthed |
|
If you's a playa then you know just what I'm talkin' 'bout |
|
I blow big with the Blacks and them Philipinos, |
|
White boys, Samoans and my brown Latinos |
|
Skunk weed, |
|
The shit that'll leave you dumb-keyed |
|
Don't heard you dig with it |
|
I'm coming sick with it |
|
Uh lalala |
|
Check my repartoir |
|
Thrilla' for Scrilla' |
|
Dogfood Dope-Dealla' |
|
[Refrain x2] |
|
[Verse 5: Baby Beesh] |
|
Check it out girl: |
|
Now you need a man, with fannetts |
|
Who blows big bomb, don't blow no stress |
|
Who said that'll be the babbies whith no delay |
|
And mean every god-damned thing I say |
|
You want a girlfriend, too? |
|
We like it, dig that! |
|
But now they trois in the spa's lookin kittie-cat |
|
I don't discriminate, you know it's all to the good |
|
A brand nu' playa strikin' through your hood - Biatch |
|
[Verse 6: Jay Tee] |
|
Bassed, back seatin' on diamond rings |
|
We got them blown brains |
|
And them notches be jockin' it |
|
I load that key up 'couse I know they got some cock in it |
|
Ayo, I'm knockin' it, drop the cop and the purses |
|
Break bread, for what you got up in your purses |
|
You re-inverse this |
|
Got me on my get-back |
|
12 hundret for the way your partner hit that |
|
[Refrain x2] |
|
[Outro: Baby Beesh] |
|
Yeah! |
|
N2Deep |
|
Featuring young smokin' thugsta Baby Beesh |
|
Latino Velvet |
|
Puttin' it down in the real way |
|
Con you feel me? |
|
Haha... |
|
Got the boy Cut Louis from the Looie - Crew in this motherfucker |
|
Johnny motherfuckin' Z |
|
Rated Z studios |
|
V-Town, Califas |
|
Ah, ah, ah, ah.. |
