Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song We Got This, artist - Cappadonna. Album song The Struggle, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 13.06.2005
Record label: Code Red
Song language: English
We Got This |
| Yo, hold up, yo you know what. |
| S.I., Staten Island, niggas, yo, yo |
| Ain’t no more talkin' money or fame |
| I’m stalkin' this game, and when I’m done |
| I’m stickin' the fork in this game and run clutchin' my gun |
| Name P.I., place S.I., N.Y.C |
| Caramel papi chulo, mammies vena que |
| Let’s see if you could stop me |
| I beat it like a one man posse, I leave it wet and sloppy |
| I’m cocky, at times laid back, like to keep my fade back |
| A lot of niggas about to get paid back (HOOOOO!) |
| Because a lot cats that don’t like me |
| I guess they thought I took it lighty |
| But I rhyme and make you niggas wanna fight me |
| I’ll melt a nigga like a icey, and wipe 'em up with a towel |
| Still on the prowl, how bout? |
| It’s Staten Isle, I’m foul |
| The same time I got respect for what’s real |
| Who said Staten Island niggas ain’t real? |
| You dead wrong, and took you tied up with a red thong |
| For goin' against The Struggle |
| We squeeze on the team, crash your huddle |
| Well I’m known in the hood like Castellano |
| You could see me in the fiddy, puffin' H. Armano |
| Doin' eighty on the Belt', follow signs to Verrazano |
| I keep two guns in my hood like paisano |
| My style iller than ill, I’m sick like Alzheimer’s |
| A bugged cat, ready to bring back old drama |
| If it wasn’t for the Slash, what could I tell mamma |
| God damn, it’s bad blood between brick and the mud (HOOOOO!) |
| Brick and the thugs, shittin' on love |
| Turned over on the newest, start spittin' the snub |
| My flow is nice and I ain’t worried about them hoes at night |
| For my wife and seeds, gotta get this dough shit right |
| I’m analyzin', a look how the pro’s get ripe |
| And number 16, yeah, I want it showin' the lights |
| I rep the hood, gotta respect the good |
| Even the ones that left the hood, bitch! |
| Car hard suits, Timb boots and millimeters |
| (We got this, we got this) |
| Hoes and fancy cars and smokin' reefers |
| Cellies and beepers (we got this) |
| Hoodies and sneakers (we got this) |
| Yo, it’s the smoked out white boy back on the block |
| With the thirty eight snubbed nosed, tucked in his sock |
| From the H-Block, Huegonaut, part of the rock |
| Shaolin, Staten Isle, and I love hip hop |
| And when it comes to the kid, man, shit ain’t easy |
| I Lounge with the Cappa D. and L.O. |
| Beezy (I see you!) |
| You sees me? |
| Yeah, yo, believes me |
| The Code: Red for life click, racoons need me |
| Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, I got this |
| Rock this, radio drop this |
| The Code: Red's for real, yo, you can’t stop this |
| None of ya’ll muthafuckas out there could block this |
| Jumped in the whips, all dipped down low |
| Ready for a trip, to where, I don’t know |
| No matter where we go, you can’t stop the flow |
| The heat’s on, gun’s drawn, what’s up, yo? |
| Aiyo, my spit never tasted good, I’m sour |
| I spit for the money and I spit for power |
| Then I lean on ya’ll like the Eiffel Tower |
| And to my Staten Isle niggas, that’s my heart |
| I might leave for a minute, but could never depart |
| Yeah, I’m married to this bitch and I’m still fuckin' |
| I’m in the hood where the guns is nothin' |
| And niggas don’t say shit, like E.F. Hutton |
| Paranoid like Bush, press the button |
| Don’t make me grab the boomers and get disgustin' |
| Poppy Wardrobe King, Code: Red Production |
| Pillage for life niggas, the hoes that’s crushin' |
| To all my niggas that went out bustin' |
| Grindin', the black Timbs on, wild out, hustlin' |
| (We got this, we got this) |
| Car hard suits, Timb boots and millimeters |
| (We got this, we got this) |
| Hoes and fancy cars and smokin' reefers |
| Cellies and beepers (we got this) |
| Hoodies and sneakers (we got this) |