
Date of issue: 03.08.2009
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Think Differently |
It go; |
gangsta-gangsta, thug, killa |
I’m the black panther that shot the drug dealer |
I live on the block, where dudes bust they knocks |
Ride on top of the car, they crush they rocks |
Niggaz hot in my fifths, to run from cops |
See I’m a nigga too, so I know how niggaz do |
Keep it real, you should let that bullshit silence |
You only been involved in domestic violence |
Nigga, I chase rentals with Long Islands |
Catch us in the club, doing them long, wiling |
The microphone marvelous, this Marvin Haggler |
It’s so obvious, in the lobby, suave and dressed |
Where the party is? |
Round trip, flight to LaGuardia |
Nobody dodge, when we walk through the audience |
Dolo, with more dough to blow though |
For sure though, slide one deep in a four door |
I’m poor though, catch me rocking a Lisa Lobo |
Bump yo ho, I want more to the boatload |
Your coat can’t save your soul, but I’m foe |
It’s written in gold, hieroglyphic Egyptian scroll |
Streets I’ve been in, from the beginning I’m a legend |
Never flee up from my enemies, shots I’m sending |
Musical martyr like John Lennon, from the beginning |
Spit with a vengeance, semi-automatic weapon repping |
Calm stop, warlock like David Geffen |
Blowin' ox', like oxygen, out of my nostrils |
Seen brave men, fight for they honor and even die |
Two gorgeous divas, blowing the heaters down the ride |
To the, end of the earth, through hell, water and fire |
Queens Messiah, camouflage black attire |
Magnum opus, top five, dead or alive |
The feds focus my militants, swervin' the lotus |
Mossberg in the hostess, I write it then release it |
Then I, bless the street, giving birth to soldiers |
Rolls gold, King Tut piece, flooded with boulders |
I praise Allah, make this a lot, facing the east |
This is for them black and white babies, starving to eat, Think Differently |
Poverty stricken, fried chicken, fly rhyme kicking |
Blind visions from the mind’s wisdom, in this crime religion |
Niggaz listen, what I’m spitting is hard as prison |
Benches in the trenches, grym intentions, twin Doberman pinchers |
Leather trenches, lead drenches for brat endless |
Gats eleven inches, ya neck slit it, your head spin it |
The epidemic was spread infinite, so once the thread is knitted |
For seven digits, it’s just business, no disrespect intended |
To he who feel offended, a beat down cannot be prevented |
Big hit it, the game I’m deep in it, until my Yankee fitted |
Switch three, be hanging niggaz, squeeze three eighty triggers |
Used to fuck my babysitters, now I whip Mercedes-Benz' |
I stand alone, cause I’m grown, for me to crush the Walkman |
Gang lover supporter, of any sort, when I’m New York |
Rollin' for dolo, the Willie Bobo gotta go bro |
Word to JoMo, the kid in the polo, got the world in a yo-yo |
Your happy meal skills is still, no frills |
Cook ckrills, sign deals, when you see me, just kneel |
Or rocking mills, your hospital bill |
Blood from your nostril spill, it’s not looking well |
When I lick off shots, the hostages yell |
Chopper fell like ox tail, your optic’s swell |
Ninjas with blades, raised from jungles of wolves |
In hoods, where hammers bark and the tennis spark |
Police on radar, so we stay fogged up |
Puffin' blunts, sippin' Goose, and damage |
God Damn it’s hard, but still, we gettin' by like rhino’s |
Ones that peel, crucified on the Earth, for guns and needles |
Nine inches, hurt, I cause stitches, build |
With Gods on track, suffering visible scars, it’s hard to relax |
Ready to spaz, no weed, thirst for cash, times moving fast |
We like cheaters with masks, lighting cheeba and hash |
Tryin' to balance the steps, screaming, we need freedom |
Tired of bleeding, where ego’s let out of evil |
Town is of death, no time for weakness |
Higher heights to reach, advance the concrete |
With iron feet… |
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