Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Fantastic Four Pt. 2, artist - Cam'Ron. Date of issue: 31.12.1999
Song language: English
Fantastic Four Pt. 2 |
| Peronas the crib sicker than Madonna’s |
| gettin more press then Elien Gonzalez |
| Some niggas tell me I’m the hottest |
| I never cool off |
| Criticize the shit I write but it’s never too soft |
| Snatch channels like I’m Disney |
| half grizzlie unexplain |
| when niggas see me they duck |
| hoppin i pass quickley |
| Someone to laugh wit me get acquainted |
| they know exactly when a niggas famous |
| or livin dangerous |
| The kid got a glow like i just came home |
| try to dull me niggas that owe be hiding from me Changin their names |
| screenin their calls |
| the dreamcast in the crib |
| never leavin at all |
| Playin NBA 2K for two days straight |
| fifty dollas a game |
| ket me polish my gain |
| Withdrawin at the bank |
| never deposit a thing |
| yo I gotta make a dolla wit slang |
| Back in the day we was slave |
| whips and chains |
| its tradition |
| all i got whips and chains |
| All i did |
| flip some cane |
| now a nigga sick of the range |
| only a new six could fix the pain |
| Look at all these goose bumps round my wrist and veins |
| Milton Bradley wanna get my game |
| 5−0 wanna frisk my frame |
| I dont deal wit cheap blow |
| when i shoot no block |
| sort of like a free throw |
| Cant miss |
| and one of you bitches burn me and i cant piss |
| got me itchin like its dandrif |
| you gone see the back of cam hand quick you dam bitch |
| im a stomp you stab you |
| look at you you dam bitch |
| Ya love I would dumb back out |
| everybody like «killa |
| when u come back out,"Listen |
| I like rap |
| routine had to stop |
| met a new connect got it 18 a whop |
| Cops on payroll every block got blow |
| we fight every night |
| reunite then pop Mo Thats how it is when you deal wit me and I dont feel tv only real tv Real money real gats real cats real girls |
| MTV I’ll show you the real world |
| Cats run up on you |
| splater your white eyes |
| thats only to make saturday night live |
| Lookin for a casket got the right size |
| wanna bake a cake i got the right pies |
| Crashed up the four |
| but now the right five |
| lookin for beef you found the right guys |
| Old folk say «cam stop ur route |
| why you gotta get the guns |
| just box it out» |
| Listen that there is trife |
| only fightin is the doctor |
| and thats for your life |
| As for your wife |
| took her out just to tour town |
| bench press for what |
| I lift four pounds |
| Tear up your car |
| all four doors down |
| cats wanna box |
| well heres four more rounds |
| Yo, |
| Keep talkin bout convertibles and your ice |
| I’ma smack you yap you and murder you |
| Keep talkin bout your dawgs is this |
| and you leavin out the part that your dawgs is bitch |
| Lets get straight to the point |
| aint a nigga better than me im agrivated and im fed to the T If I gotta do joints |
| and im sittin for five |
| when you remeniss about me say the nigga was live |
| I got twelve arm robberies pendin |
| a dope charge, a gun charge |
| hard to see holiday bendin |
| Wit a brand new case |
| twenty niggas, the ride |
| a spot OT |
| and some brand new base |
| Why say names |
| you could get who ever you know |
| I got the gun cocked |
| ready to blow |
| Dont compare his rhymes to mines |
| mines is real |
| and his is just words and lines |
| Now I’ma give it to you straight cause I don’t cop no pleas |
| Sheek Lush, a nigga who got lots of cheese |
| Wit enough coke to stand on and slide like ski’s |
| and you could see your whole body on my H-R vreethe |
| How you wanna do this shit |
| like the quick and the dead |
| so i could cock back |
| empty out the back of your head |
| Do a drive-by go head |
| Im quick wit the heater |
| I shoot threw you |
| your car |
| and threw the parkin meter |
| Look it ain’t much to talk about, fuck you |
| Fuck where you from, you better wear your gun |
| Won’t shoot nothin, but you will appear in court |
| I put your brains everywhere so you could share your thoughts |
| Few hot shells outta the chrome will leave you there |
| wit a funny smell like gun powder colon |
| Listen everythings about the kiss |
| the new dope out |
| sky blue CL 6 |
| wit the new poke outs |
| Tired of the speculation faggit |
| everything is real here |
| ya aint gonna get wreck on jason |
| Hold down the fort |
| could never be baught |
| so I dont flip when the crackers wave checks in my facin |
| Rather start gunnin |
| cause soon as you start chasin the money |
| thats when the money start runnin |
| I drive by in a car service |
| hope out wit mad nigga |
| pull my phone out |
| like ya nervous |
| Like ya dont know the kid stay hittin benches |
| wit kay’s of the cane |
| leave strays sittin inches |
| away from your brain |
| In them grey kitted benzes |
| I sway threw the lanes |
| now the nay’s just sit and flinches |
| when they see the chain |
| Ya might not never come out |
| my verses get heard |
| I’m a hustler |
| I dont sleep from the first to the third |
| Take the ??? |
| to Cali |
| but the shots go quickly |
| put red spots on your neck |
| and they not no hickeys |
| The truck still got those micky’s |
| and dont even pass it my way |
| if its not no sticky |
| No matter where Im at |
| I pop regaurdless |
| cause I get knocked I cut a check |
| ya gone drop the charges |
| Put three holes in head |
| make em look like bowlin balls |
| Come threw in spring |
| wit nikes that dont get sold till fall |
| So I could hardly care |
| cause the only way I see time behind bars |
| if its a cartier |