| *echoing*
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| New shit, Mobb Deep featuring Noyd (like this dunn)
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| The Professional, used from my nigga Vic
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| Haha
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| Yo you catch chills, P stimulates your eardrum
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| Tastebuds, more higher than drugs, my song take all
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| I blast off on the track, lord
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| My shit is pure satisfaction, what more could you ask for
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| Wit facts like an? |
| ansaw?, I pour fire on earth, I been to hot raw
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| Do Queens tires get burnt, let’s peel through the real
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| Slide through my terrain, take a ride wit me
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| Check out my lifestyle, it’s a off-road course
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| I stay challenged, but that’s a good thing
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| Cuz it creates balance, Infamous wild life federation
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| My congress, sit down and conversate ya fate
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| Derate barracks, don’t get yourself embarrassed
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| My click savage, y’all niggas is average
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| I’m handling your Most V.P., put em in P. C
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| Nigga, it’s the I-M-D nigga (CLUE)
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| Chorus
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| Cuz we plottin, leave the cats wit one option
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| Start hoppin, cuz when it’s on we ain’t stoppin
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| The click’ll get the message when shit start droppin
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| Don’t got a gat stashed, you better start coppin
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| Now you can talk about a nigga, criticize my faults
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| But in New York, got it locked wit bolts, blow the vote
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| Overdose, while you cop block and cut throats
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| Me and my click’s champagning, and campaigning
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| While you rhyme about your jewels, and sniff that shit up in your nostrils
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| I’ll be plottin on your life, to put one up in your fossil
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| Niggas think they gully, on the inside sweet like honey
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| Niggas want the bitches, we just want the money
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| Federal notes, flipped blue, keys of coke store frontin watchin his dough
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| Tourin the coast, pardon wife due, gettin babies drunk
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| Call me foul, deep down, you gotta admit, you like my style
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| Put holes in your Polo, I know your M-O, you half homo
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| Joinin my team, that’s a no-no
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| Say what you want, don’t let it talk for you
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| And that’s my word, I’ll have this hollow tip stored for you
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| One time nigga, two times nigga yo
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| I dig the way Clueminatti got the beats rollin through the body
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| The type of tracks, got me killin these cats
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| Twenty-one and black, mental inner city minds be exact
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| When niggas in the hood ain’t no good, carry gats
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| And leave you on your back in a hurry
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| Especially, dealin wit the money
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| Rockin Pelle fuckin wit the Spanish mami cheffin up by dellis
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| Now we got the guns pumpin jums out the back of a deli
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| Really, these chumps gettin slummed on the daily
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| Forty days, forty weeks, either these raps are back in the streets
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| Stackin cracks up in the fleece, so Hav blaze the bees
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| And pass that to me, and I’ll bless piece
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| So this way the whole fam eat
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| Be the Infamous of this shit, pioneers of this
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| Survival of the Fittest, nobody’s fuckin wit this
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| So fuck around wit Hav, you fuck around wit me
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| You fuck around wit me, then you fuck around wit P
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| You fuck around wit us, then you fuck around wit three
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| Mothafuckers from the NYC, what nigga uh, what nigga Clueminatti |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The Professional , by - DJ Clue. Song from the album The Professional, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп