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Yo, your boy Born back, one hot track |
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Another masterpiece for all my hood niggas |
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The sting in the street, trying to survive, man |
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We gotta get right and take care of fam |
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So we hustle son, and play the block heavy |
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I never snitch and never ran, when the chops sweat me |
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I earn my stripes, listen, from the streets to prison |
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Niggas know me, dog, and my divine mission |
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I got the game now, like me and money green |
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On the compound, yo, this a lock down |
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And yea as clear as dawn and harm city Born |
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Reppin' B-More for life, with that heat drawn |
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I'm bout to take off boy, light years gone |
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Lightspeed on, I breeze by, like whooo |
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The way you going, to the top, man |
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I can't stop fam, can't you niggas, tell? |
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Look at this cartel, we moving weight now |
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My CD's jamming like they told vows |
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My flow so different, with so many styles |
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Plus my voice ill, you boys better chill |
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Cuz my fam kill, shhh, don't squeal |
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Wheels peel out, and the darkness appear |
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Like roaches when they see the lights |
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You better get it right, cuz we ain't come to fight, ight? |
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[Cappadonna] |
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Sick with the flows, I spit for hoes |
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I grind everyday, fuck cheeks in they holes |
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Spark my yae, I'm still ghetto, with t-shirts |
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Jeans hard and stiff, I don't give a fuck |
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Shit, my Skwad is thick, we don't fall back |
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Fuck, we in charge of the shit, fly suit, red Havana Joe's |
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Muslim oil, I'm hood, nigga, what? Man, you know I'm spoiled |
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New York City, what, you know I'm loyal |
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Baltimore City, I got love for you |
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Popped off the first time that I ever saw you |
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Murdaland mixed with New York music |
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It's something in the cosmic, making me use this |
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I move slick, jump over cunts, prostitutes bitch |
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Get up to my hair, the grooves is a bitch |
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The Better Life, more papers, hoes and fishsticks |
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Biscuits, sneak 'em in the club, icepicks |
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Me and Clayborne, yo, we keep us a nice chick |
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The police they ain't got us in they vicegrips |
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[Little Clayway] |
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Chilling in a nice whip, staying on some real shit |
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Look kid, we got skills to pay the bills, and eat a meal, for real |
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Even if a nigga gotta get killed |
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I'mma get mine, fuck standing in that checkline, waiting on the government |
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I'd rather grab the tech nine, fuck, go through hard times |
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All the time, it's rough on the brother |
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Got the d's, to stick up hoes and my baby mother |
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Not a lover, I gotta use the rubber with the chick |
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Can't trust her, child support sending me case numbers |
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Game is sour, streets going under |
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Uh, money is power, we ain't getting younger |
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Yo, I'm like a lion with a five day hunger |
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And I shine like the sun, in the middle of summer |
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Uh, give me a beat and I flip that |
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Start a record label and show you how I did that |
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Give me some dat, you know it cost niggas some stacks |
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Plus a nigga did it from scratch |
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Used to be pushing them cracks, when a nigga had |
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BBS's on the Ac', caught a flashback |
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Grown now, speaking on facts |
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Still talk slow when I rap, my nigga Cap |
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My nigga Born in the back |
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Wu-Tang, Clayway, what's fucking with that? |
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[Chorus 2X: Cappadonna] |
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My gang gon' kick ya'll ass |
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My gang gon' kick ya'll ass |
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My gang gon' kick ya'll ass |
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And stomp ya'll niggas out |
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[Outro: DJ Fontane] |
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Yeah, the Better Life Movement |
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Masterminds Productions |
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Your boy DJ Fontane, Clayway Records |
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You know how we hold it down |
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Wu-South, uh |
