Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Skit, artist - Big SteveDate of issue: 31.12.1998
Song language: English
Skit |
| Playas, we are now taking over |
| Your motherfucking airwaves |
| Thank you, for tuning in |
| Ok I peep this game, with two mafia bosses |
| A deuce verbal abuse, make a nigga nautious |
| See Poyo, up on a whole 'nother page |
| Breaking the stage, make a million dollar wage |
| Can’t fade, aces of spade on vocals |
| Two Glocks two holsters, lead swarm like locusts |
| Stock broker, stereo killer peep my vocals |
| Steady peeping game, through my Gucci bifocals |
| I done told you once, I done told you twice |
| Rolex’s full of ice, on point precise |
| Red beans and rice, as my ghetto entree |
| Big bosses don’t play, call me Sensei |
| Verbal AK, assassinating tracks |
| Snapping they backs, and bleeding mics on wax |
| And in fact a bunch of crack, took me to my stacks |
| Now relax and feel the heat, from this verbal impact |
| I done told you, when we hit the scene man it’s over |
| We some mob niggas, push a big Range Rover |
| City to city, and state to state |
| Ain’t nothing else to do, but what regulate |
| I promise cuz niggas ain’t ready for me, the Grand Pappy |
| Mafioso, peep game my stilo |
| Is out of control, brick hauler shot caller |
| Creeping with Big E, in a wide body Impala |
| Through the state, when me and Poke regulate |
| Congregate, so we can make them platinum plates |
| Too late to jump down, see we setting it off |
| In your face head of the race, and getting a taste |
| But it’s big ass pie, and the problems in my eyes |
| See I got’s to grind and get it, big niggas on the rise |
| Taking hoes from Colorado nigga, and Caligula |
| See me on the whip side baby, so I can get with ya |
| A shop like Vivica, cause she’s the fox |
| Bring a watch filled with baguettes, and my 18's knock |
| Let the top drop playa, in the Bentley Azur |
| Mafioso and Poyo, is wrecking for sure |
| I heard that Peruvian weight with flakes, move better upstate |
| Me and Podin, in Arizona dumping off crates |
| Little crates of cakes, got the whip got the scrape |
| Ain’t no jamming the breaks, equate loot in the tailgate |
| We got 49 of the states, nigga that we that conquer |
| 18 when I’m wrecking, like I’m driving a Tonka |
| Pushing off ya |
| And I’m whipping the cheese, to make dollas |
| Candy Impala, Sacci stitches on my collar |
| And hoes holla, when we hit the place |
| Wrecking they face, alligator on my waist |
| See it’s no time, for hate |
| Click tight, like face |
| Was it the diamonds that hit you, or the mace |
| Cause you niggas I done told ya, when we hit your streets bitch it’s over |
| We mobbing over niggas, in a big Range Rover |
| Tipping the car over, stretch 'gini with a sheuffer |
| Praying to Jehovah, this balling is never over |
| With our pictures on the poster, reading they want it |
| Conducting bidness with a taser, in a big 600 |
| They all up on it, I floss it and flaunt it cause I want it |
| With a beam on the gauge, ready to shit on my opponents |
| (*talking*) |
| Know I’m saying, know I’m tal’n bout |
| Real off in here (real), Big Pok' |
| Grand Pappy Mafioso, know I’m saying |
| Chevis Entertainment, it’s real Woss Ness |
| Feel that, feel they hate it |
| Cause I done told ya |