Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song B EZ, artist - Capone-N-Noreaga. Album song The Reunion, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 20.11.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Tommy Boy
Song language: English
B EZ |
| I heard that nigga Capone’s home yo… word to Motha. |
| that nigga Nore' |
| doin’his mothafuckin’thing…thugged out |
| entertainment… knowwhatI'msayin'?, niggas still in the streets… Ill |
| Will, Braveheart nigga, there’s a thin line between streets and |
| business.so we gotta have balance and be easy… |
| Verse 1: (Nas) |
| I heard you fags wanna catch me off guard |
| put Tecks to my heart, the death of Escobar |
| under your breath, whispers in the dark |
| I hear it 'cause the street ain’t loyal to choose sides |
| prepare for the beef, whoever lose dies |
| rich and I’m thuggin' |
| I can’t trust nothin', this bitch that I’m fuckin' |
| this clip that I’m bustin’could jam in my fist |
| look at my hand, finger pussy with expensive rings |
| cut coke cookies, wrote poetry |
| and broke noses B. |
| the voice from Heaven |
| I’m God sent, of course a legend |
| this is part 1, speak my sermon, the hood reverand |
| blunted eyes red |
| C-Class, a Hundred times Five Red |
| CD’s blast, speed fast, haters drop dead |
| I’m gorgeous |
| black Goddess flip the arm rest, flip the cordless |
| her body stacks the best, ass is flawless |
| finally the long awaited shit, ghetto people |
| the sequel |
| Nas, CNN, nobody’s equal. |
| Yo, Be easy |
| keep the club off the heezy |
| straight thugs in the back, drink creezy |
| be easy, but we still smoke treezy |
| see us rippin’the shows with thugged eezy. |
| Verse 2: (Capone) |
| Niggas picked me the boss |
| Ricky Ross |
| Lex Two-Fifty Horse power, click and devour the source |
| if it’s flour then swallow your loss |
| I cock Fours, kick in Poppi’s doors |
| all for the cash and the cause |
| niggas break big fractions of laws |
| so what, we got it sewn up, smack every cat on the board |
| I speak the truth, guns spit at you, shakin’my palm |
| it’s pitiful, wavin’my wand |
| The Don, a Hundred follow me like Farrakhan |
| chasin’my Henny, embrace Benny’s |
| it’s quite Frank, my niggas 'll kill, never waste a Penny |
| money stay well invested |
| feel the weight on my necklace |
| when death is too close flip the next shit |
| thug the game out |
| bust biscuits, pull the Range out |
| public enemy, QueensBridge where I hang out |
| sweet scent of weed I wear like a fragrance |
| my energy’s kinetic, mind power type ancient. |
| Verse 3: (Noreaga) |
| I see death through the corner, die, kingdom come |
| Six 500's, pull up right in front of the slum |
| Sticky green fingers soldiers of the great God |
| Clarence spoke to the poor but he lived in Oz An ill hook like Roy Jones, I’m a street corner bastard |
| and crush weed with the hashish |
| Bandana head dome wrapped |
| Caddy trucks with the grills and the chrome snaps |
| I’m on point like Al Sharpton, come peep the M.U. |
| marksman |
| The S-Class is shittin’on your weak Datsun |
| Graffiti written on the Bible, my life is wicked |
| I see dead corpses, and Rolls Royces |
| Put your heart on your lap, listen you hear voices |
| My whole persona is the drama and to smoke skama |
| I can lift it up, Willy what in front of your slut |
| Money bustin out my pocket, your bank is stopped |