Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Power to the Peso, artist - Cappadonna. Album song The Struggle, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 13.06.2005
Record label: Code Red
Song language: English
Power to the Peso |
Yeah, nigga! |
Aiyo, what up man? |
This is all BB right here |
Word, yo, we just slid in from the back door |
It’s Code: Red, nigga, level four, ya’ll know what it is, man |
I told ya’ll, huh? |
I didn’t? |
Watch this one, though (Goon Squad!) |
Aiyo, I know niggas that get dusted and wild out |
They foul out, talk to the cops and play they style out |
Me? |
I’m real hood, and them niggas that was fakin' before |
I take they jaws, cuz Lord, I wish they would |
Yes, Lord, it’s all good, you know I hustle |
In the tanktop with no muscle, all in the hood |
And roll dice by the elevator, and post up |
And wait there, if he comin' in, dog, gotta wait til later |
I squeeze off, ease off from the nine milly |
And my niggas be like, «Watch how he whine, Billy!» |
And for the record, these niggas gotta come kill me |
Where I’m at, in the Hill, by the Ooh, silly |
Danger, danger, ain’t nothin' change but space |
Ask Space and Daxe, in how they manage |
And how I do damage, fuck takin' flicks for cameras |
You know them bandanas, run with them clip bananas |
I’m on the hunt for the big dough to stick Santana |
Plus these labels exec’s come in a calm manner |
N.S.Beezy, I stay easy |
Fuck what ya’ll niggas is talkin', I’m off the heezy |
In the hood, you get fake hugs and cold stares |
Heat holdin' niggas with the apple colored wears |
Try’nna get them greens, premature niggas get knocked out and dope fiend |
Niggas stand up, Staten Island, rip you and ya mans up |
Hands up, yeah, kid, it’s the real |
Rough necks on this side, cats makin' a deal |
Coke in the bill, weapons appeal, do what ya feel |
From Park Hill to Jungle Nillz |
So much that we gotta pay the bills |
Give us the cream or get killed… |
Goon Squad! |
Aiyo, my jewels so chunky, I got a brass monkey |
With a, rock in his ear, two chips in his tooth |
No cuff', I throw the ol' joint off the roof |
It’s a new year, I’m layin' new words in the booth |
Fuck «The Truth», I’m «The Reason» why rap needs to +change+ |
The same four quarters in +the game+, I got change |
Nickles and dimes, rhymes, styles of Beneen |
See, Cash Rules Everything, lord, I need C.R.E.A.M |
Gotta team that could elbow out the meat cooler |
I’m a hustler, I could sell a brick to a jeweler |
Off your front porch, g off ya back deck |
This me, Lounge and the team, we dishin' up the projects |
We killas as sharp as knives |
Work for hire, special key be the paralyzer |
Got my own killa slang and dancers |
Certain hammers for certain circumstances |
These the roads of Allah’s deed, knawhatimean? |
I took the advances and bulletproofed the Suburbans |
No handouts, stay earnin' mine |
The hood hate to see a nigga shine and now I know |
That a ho gon' always be a ho |
And 23's can’t fit on a '98 Tahoe |
And ain’t no superstars comin' off Apollo |
The chicks around the way frontin' with tongue rings, don’t swallow |
My mind was raped as a child, Rocky could of never beat Apollo |
The feds could of never caught 'Cino |
P. Diddy would of never fell for a bird like J. Lo, power to the peso, nigga! |