| Killa, Dipset
|
| Man I spit that pimp talk, you hang out where the pimps collide
|
| It’s a pimp in my ride, no need to pimp the ride
|
| This ain’t the pimp camp: pimp limp, pimp stance
|
| Pimp-slap a slim tramp, order steak, shrimp scamp
|
| Ok-k-kay, you g-g-gay
|
| I’ll soufflé ya toupée and bottles be a bouquet
|
| Right where you stay, or where you stayed
|
| That .45 trey deuce spade sprayed, you stayed
|
| Unload the click-clack to ya fit cap
|
| Hold the shit back, say goodbye and go commit that
|
| For 9 years in Spain had the time share
|
| Back to Times Square… I got dimes here
|
| By the Port Authority, but I got more authority
|
| Your girl she ordered Mauri, checks she forge 'em for me
|
| Reporters report me how she report to the orgy
|
| But it’s more to the story: her daughter applaud me
|
| We in a zone, our soldiers like to stand by
|
| Never alone we 'bout to make the drums cry
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset
|
| We hold our own, don’t think you can move us or push us
|
| We step to the side, that’s why I call this family ties
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset
|
| Killa! |
| Uhh
|
| From the back of the cop-ride
|
| To black-on-black, black when we cop rides
|
| I will not hide, «hi ma, hot thighs»
|
| Dick on her nose… now she’s cock-eyed
|
| From whippin' the bacon rolls to outside whippin' the bacon Rolls
|
| Sanaa Lathan knows, I’m rakin' but makin' dough
|
| 80 holes in your shirt, there: your own Jamaican clothes
|
| I ain’t talkin' the Poconos, I’m talkin' the Aspens, to slopes we go
|
| You get the «okey doke», play me, baby I hope he know
|
| We break noses, call him baby Pinocchio
|
| (Fuckin' liar), I hold him with blue mittens
|
| 2 pigeons, «what the fuck are you pitchin'?»
|
| 1 house, 2 kitchens… who's bitchin'?
|
| I bring the diesel, won’t see the Fu-Schnickens
|
| (And I don’t trust a hoe)
|
| That’s mother to baby-mother
|
| Motherfucker, you look like a lady-lover
|
| I’ll touch slap her, dap her, plus clap her
|
| Tell her drink, come get drunk, it’s nut cracker
|
| And it’s well known that Rell home
|
| Yup, hit E. T up on the cell phone
|
| As your family dies, and my family rise
|
| Call the network, Dipset, Family Ties (Killa)
|
| We in a zone, our soldiers like to stand by
|
| Never alone we 'bout to make the drums cry
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset
|
| We hold our own, don’t think you can move us or push us
|
| We step to the side, that’s why I call this family ties
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset
|
| They see me in that lavender tank, you’d rather just faint
|
| I was Fort Laudi, you was Saint Latter-Day Saints
|
| Whips get lathered in paint
|
| Rap with the rappers, scrap with the actors, cap back: abracadabra
|
| And I’m appalled think that we at all comfortable
|
| Me in Mauris, these rappers all Theodore Huxtable
|
| They mother’s a lawyer, they father’s a doctor
|
| Auction coke to the coppers, Glocks in the locker and
|
| Who you supposed to be? |
| Get hung from the rosaries
|
| Call me «C.O.D.» |
| — that’s coke and them Os of D
|
| Some OD’ed, B off them Os of D
|
| I ain’t give a fuck as long as they ain’t close to me
|
| Put ya drugs in the air, give a toast to me
|
| Pump that Dip in ya veins, get dope like me
|
| Fuck Kerry and Bush, you should vote for me
|
| For real, nigga, on the real the last hope is me
|
| We in a zone, our soldiers like to stand by
|
| Never alone we 'bout to make the drums cry
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset
|
| We hold our own, don’t think you can move us or push us
|
| We step to the side, that’s why I call this family ties
|
| Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset, Dipset |