Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Drivers Seat, artist - Capone-N-Noreaga.
Date of issue: 16.06.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Drivers Seat |
Killer B, yeah, rest in peace, I’m sayin son |
Ain’t no room in this game for everybody, you know? |
But uh, we gon' do our thing baby, we gon' do our thing |
Yo, Iman T.H.U.G. |
somethin' stunnin', rappers get done in |
I migrate—Queens, Jamaica, Brooklyn—gets sunnin' |
All feelings though, we all grow wit this? |
buckle? |
I recognized life is a deal, cards and a shuffle |
Everything revolves around me, I couldn’t see that |
25 to Life and hip-hop, you got the feedback |
Who need that, hundred grand stashed up in a G-stack |
We fo' black, want more trip, we get that old back |
And keep this world high, yearly raw supply |
These fuckin' tracks have a nigga feelin' wide inside |
Any bottle-tip high smokin' lah in the rye |
It’s on you, if you wanna take heed the hidden treasure |
Recognize it’s Iman T.H.U.G. |
wit Noreaga |
Recognize that 2−5 shine’ll last forever |
Embedded in your mind like the seams in butter leathers |
Butter leathers, check it—yo, yo, yo |
I keep it real wit' a nigga—keep it real wit' me |
I cut the hand off a nigga tryin' steal from me |
2−5 be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see |
Black juice in the Yukon driver’s seat |
I keep it real wit' a nigga—keep it real wit' me |
I cut the hand off a nigga tryin' steal from me |
2−5 be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see |
Black juice in the Yukon driver’s seat |
I keep it real wit' a bitch that keep it real wit' me |
Cut the hand off a chicken tryin' steal from me |
CNN be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see |
Now, it’s Nore' now in the fuckin' driver’s seat |
Yo' I shoot rapid, burn weed inside a backwood |
Iraq embassy need a straitjacket |
Yo let’s racketeer this, while most niggas’ll fear this |
Turn my shit down everytime they hear it |
P-H-D me, rapidly right in back of me |
Tackle me, them niggas make loot but only half of me |
My faculty, blow holes in your Moschinos and tuxedos |
While all y’all niggas free-load, reload |
Explode on, roll on, fold on, Ghengis Khan |
Dusk till dawn Art of War |
Still time to score, yo we kid we poly for |
Yo Victoria’s Secret bitches that suck dick raw |
The freak, Rick James type, I got the long pipe |
Kick doors in, snake four-fours in |
Yo escape the Nor-van, swervin', TV’s inside Suburban |
Iraq dishieke, diamond cut pinky |
Listen to Trag shit wit Noyd and Chinky |
Network like the internet, wit Henny wet |
Nine-oh be my set, so whatever be next |
Nashiem, he laced this beat on some east coast shit |
I keep it real wit' a nigga—keep it real wit' me |
I cut the hand off a nigga tryin' steal from me |
CNN be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see |
Black juice in the Yukon driver’s seat |
We overdose this, high class wit one E-Class |
Shorty came through, she iced out and dressed in blue |
Said she move from Brooklyn, reside in secion two |
Know how we do out here ho, a two for square |
Get high, and disappear play the projects on super-low |
Plus she feelin' my style, Too Hot like Coolio |
Plus her cooty though, bangin' just like the studio |
From Iraq to Inglewood, it all good |
From hood to hood, regulate like a thug should |
Yo we in too deep, losin' sleep and can’t call it |
The game is still fresh until the jake try to spoil it |
Even people I was loyal wit, give my life to |
Be the first who turn around and try to spike you |
Now they don’t like you, sendin' ten dogs to bite you |
I keep it real wit' a nigga—keep it real wit' me (Keep it real, nigga) |
I cut the hand off a nigga tryin' steal from me (Cut ya hand off!) |
2−5 be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see (What?) |
Black juice in the Yukon driver’s seat (What?) |
(Get some real with niggas, keep it real with us) |
I keep it real wit' a nigga—keep it real wit' me (Fuck) |
I cut the hand off a nigga tryin' steal from me (Cut ya hand off) |
2−5 be that bomb-diggy-bomb, you see (What?) |
Black juice in the Yukon driver’s seat (What?) |