| Yeah, here we go, here we go
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| Big Shug, comin at you baby with my man Singapore
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| Got the streets movin on 'em baby, that’s whassup
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| Make moves on them niggas
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| Once again, it’s the last of the dying breed
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| Burstin and pushin trees, blastin my enemies
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| Never conform to nothin, always perform for somethin
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| Hustle for big chips, shufflin cards and shit
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| Spittin it for the bricks, spittin it for this clique
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| Spittin it for the thugs surrounded by dime chicks
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| Yes I stay intense, my style’s, different
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| I purify the water like 50 Cent
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| Spit it heavy heavy, Porsche Caddy or Chevy
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| Who gave a fuck about your ride when they broke the levy
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| Don’t blame it on the Pres, blame it on the black mayor
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| The Pres got the power, the mayor’s just a sayer
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| I’m still touchin pullin squeezin and clappin
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| Co-captain when I spit on beats by Preem
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| I live the life, that you MC’s dream
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| But I’m still chasin after the cream
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| Yes I’m still at it, hungry like the very first day
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| When I picked the microphone up and made the crowd sway
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| I still scream JUST MOVE ON 'EM
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| Put the weapons in the air and put TWO ON 'EM~!
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| Streets move on 'em, he fake moves put two on him
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| Aim for the head, put pressure on him
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| Don’t believe what he say, just move on him
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| Streets move on 'em, streets move on 'em
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| Poetic street lyricist, hot flows bring heat to my sentences
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| Fuck a weak gimmick cause I’m deep, did I mention that
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| MC’s try to spit but I hoch lungies
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| I was dope when Bobby Brown was rockin that Gumby
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| Cops fear me cause they don’t scare me
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| My «Moment of Truth» came when I applied the «Robbin Hood Theory»
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| Rob from the rich and give to the poor
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| I’m tight on the stage with the mic, like Eddie Murphy in _Raw_
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| On the block where I drunk 'gnac and threw up, where Malcolm X grew up
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| Where new bucks try to make a few bucks
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| The crack route might get that ass whacked out
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| I beat backs out, drink Guinness Black Stout
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| I know rastas who still drive Cressidas
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| And pack machetes to fuck up your skin like eczema
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| I be smooth, when I hear the beat groove
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| Richter couldn’t measure, how I make the streets move, streets move
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| You foolin the people, push records to sell
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| Rappin that lie music, dancin to minstrel
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| Sinful to sing your hooks, layin out for the crooks
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| We know you ain’t sayin nothin your whole persona’s shook
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| I’m likin that ice too, I’m likin them cars too
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| Born with no silver spoon, grindin I have to do
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| True with my moves, never settle for nothin
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| Record deals are false, cats with no pulse
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| Sayin I can be thug, when they know they man’s soft
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| The industry is soft, take a look at your boss
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| Today, he’s the one, livin like Bill Gates
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| Tell you everyday to hurry up so you can wait
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| Your mentality’s street so every day you creep
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| He could be yo' next victim any day of the week
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| Grab him by the shirt, look him dead in the eye
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| Yell out Biggie Smalls, make him «Ready to Die» |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Streets Move , by - Big Shug. Song from the album Street Champ, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп