| Yo, I make people congregate like I’m off to a light
|
| Roll at least 20 deep like I’m off to a fight
|
| Frontin’off fake MC’s, busy caught in the hype
|
| I sleep all day long, let em off in the night
|
| Recline with dimes and chill, and blow me a breeze
|
| While your broke ass is home eat-in bologna and cheese
|
| Feelin like an idi’but its only the trees
|
| Beat-in your girl in the head, please loan me the keys
|
| While I be at the Pocono’s, strokin hoes
|
| I had the wing-on shorty, and left his ass with a broken nose
|
| Jelly cause I pull cinn-i-mon buns, I dig em out on the first night
|
| Right? |
| Hit em and run
|
| But not, without my rain coat
|
| I continue to stack legal tender, while other MC’s remain broke
|
| You lame jokes, came close, cause you hate us No longer on a hiatus
|
| La-La-Lah-la-la
|
| La-la-Lah-la-la
|
| La-La-Lah-la--la-la
|
| La-La-Lah-la-la
|
| La-la-Lah-la-la
|
| La-La-Lah-la--la-la
|
| Chadio
|
| What cha’ll know about the home, or the hop, to the hip
|
| What cha’ll know about the home, or the glock, and the clip
|
| BX, where I, see techs and G checks
|
| Fightin and squeeze with the natural re-flex
|
| Cru baby, forget about if, ands, and maybes
|
| Bitin the seeds who like to bi-catch rabies
|
| Bustin at all we try to bring the damn fall
|
| See life aint all about rhymes and ram ball
|
| It’s deeper than that, so I’m keepin the gat
|
| Caught the evilest ones, who wanna sneak an attack
|
| Come back like that cooked up crack and glass pot
|
| Hot like you be sittin up in the hash spot
|
| Blwowin spots like malator cocktail
|
| Steal mic-ro-phones and lead glock shells
|
| Bronx born, Bronx bred and Bronx raised
|
| If you Bronx torn, Bronx dead in the Bronx grave
|
| It’s all about my daughter, I wanna be able to say
|
| I’ll order a champagne 5 and a quarter
|
| So long live Cru and the Diamond in the Ruff
|
| Section, we keep protection, never bluff
|
| I’m infinite as an SP-loo, I’m feelin my self
|
| Bronx with the shine and I’m Bronx with the rhyme
|
| And if I’m Bronx with the crime nada, but over niggas
|
| With my Lex and my Range Rover, nigga
|
| I keep real simple now for all yall slow niggas
|
| You can-not see me Chad or Diamond D Yogi got that, like Baby got back
|
| Like Yogi got crack, lacin tracks to make it love all these gats (yeah)
|
| Yall don’t wanna catch a pitch that’s wild
|
| But I wanna catch a bitch that wild, and show that bitch my style
|
| In the meanwhile its all about the hiatus, remix Diamond laced
|
| I love the attention when playas hate us BX body X-rays but I can’t
|
| Givin your riot a center phobia BX bringin extra
|
| The love of what, like we be Diggin In The Crates, for tracks
|
| We’ll be diggin in the crates for decks
|
| But as I hit, a lot of real shit, I spit
|
| As real as this tape I’m rhyming on, I quit
|
| I have you know my Mansa
|
| I have you wearing red socks like Boston
|
| That’s my trick-a-down, ill |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Hiatus , by - Diamond D. Song from the album Hatred, Passions and Infidelity, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп