| But I would’ve loved to hear
|
| A Big Pun and B.I.G. |
| collabo
|
| That shit would’ve been incredible
|
| Aye yaknahmsayin, it was just happen
|
| We have our day, you know?
|
| I seen him, I seen him, I seen him at the pearly gates, yaknahmean?
|
| We keep it, keep it, keep it going from there
|
| Uhh, I dream filthy
|
| My moms and pops mixed me with Jamaican Rum and Whiskey
|
| Huh, what a set up
|
| Shoulda pushed 'em dead off, wipe the sweat off
|
| Uhh, cause in this world I’m dead off, squeeze lead off
|
| Benz sped off, ain’t no shook hands in Brook-land
|
| Army fatigue break up teams, the enemies
|
| Look man, you wanna see me locked up, shot up
|
| Moms crotched up over the casket, screamin BASTARD
|
| Cryin, know my friends is lyin
|
| Y’all know who killed 'em filled 'em with the lugars from they Rugers
|
| or they Desert, dyin ain’t the shit but it’s pleasant
|
| Kinda quiet, watch my niggaz bring the riot
|
| Giving cats the opposite of diets
|
| You gain thirty pounds when you die no lie, lazy eye
|
| I was high when they hit me, took a few cats with me
|
| Shit, I need the company (uh-huh)
|
| Apoligies in order, to T’Yanna my daughter
|
| If it was up to me you would be with me, sorta like
|
| Daddy Dearest, my vision be the clearest
|
| Silencers so you can’t hear it
|
| Competition still fear it, shit don’t ask me
|
| I went from ashy to nasty to classy, and still
|
| Nigga still gotta get his grind on
|
| Come get introduced to my home
|
| I grew up in the crime zone
|
| Soon as you grown, you on your own, you keep your strap
|
| You keep your chrome cause the streets is chilly
|
| Now get your grind on
|
| Come get introduced to my home
|
| A nigga grew up in the pro-jects, end up gettin mo' stressed
|
| Mo' money, mo' drama you know a nigga keep his armor
|
| Cause the streets are killin
|
| Now get your grind on
|
| Come get introduced to my home
|
| Yo, yo
|
| The penalty is death, especially when I’m mentally stressed
|
| My enemies hang with me 'til I eventually flip
|
| I never reject an offer to battle
|
| Slap a coffin on the saddle
|
| and rattle like a wooden horse to el barrio
|
| Niggaz talk but they babble cause they ain’t sayin nuttin
|
| If ain’t blazin somethin with the mac I’m in the shack bakin muffins
|
| Fake the funk and get your rump roast
|
| One dose of the toast’ll make you jump if you come close
|
| Pun spoke, ain’t no more debatin; |
| my Squad been waitin
|
| for the perfect time to give you what you all been waitin
|
| An orgi-nation of veterans built
|
| with genuine skills to pay the heat, gas, and the rest of the bills
|
| Invest in the real, don’t get left in the hills
|
| My tech and my steel turn your whole crew into vega-ta-bills
|
| We blessed with the will to never surrender
|
| cause my every agenda’s in and out, unseen like I entered the ninja
|
| It’s my world
|
| I got that new F-N, call it that faggot nigga gun
|
| Couple of hollow tips make you faggot niggaz run
|
| Crack pull up, everybody clear out
|
| Anybody pumpin that rock is gettin aired out
|
| I’m in that caddy with my bitch in the pack
|
| Your mommy got a body but she itchin to clap
|
| And I know you pitchin purple but we switchin the packs
|
| Listen, don’t make me hurt you I’m just givin the facts
|
| On that I 9−5 swirvin to a town near you
|
| My niggaz watch out for that Black Surburbans
|
| And no it’s not the Feds, man papi’s home
|
| And papi got it good, he could put you on
|
| Listen, I done made abandoned blocks look hot
|
| Nine to ten Benzes, a couple of drops
|
| Couple of rubber bands from the corrupt cops
|
| Just to see my niggaz eat and shit and huggin the blocks
|
| Crack a chestize 'em, right besides 'em
|
| In front of a hundred million viewers, shouldn’t surprise 'em
|
| We from the Bronx where the may-ors lift up
|
| And niggaz get shot in broad day cause we don’t give a…
|
| Fuck little niggaz on bike and just shoot you
|
| All for a pair of some Nikes, the shits brutal
|
| I done seen fiends O.D., shot the wrong pack
|
| Then they call the shit the bomb smack
|
| Word to Crack, the god body, the hard body, the realest ever
|
| The John Gotti, this rap shit, will it kill me? |
| Never
|
| This goes out to cats, fingers in they ass again
|
| Fifty dollar half-a-men, daydreamin
|
| Fuck around get wet like semen, your whole team-and
|
| be Mor-gan than Freeman
|
| I took the cream and, moved to new places new faces
|
| Fuck the screwfaces, cause when I flip
|
| I make the papers, dangerous, we Goodfellas
|
| Niggaz can’t bang with us, try to do me
|
| My crew be unruly (what)
|
| To old school cats that call gats toolies
|
| Call blacks moolies, think it’s cool to smoke woolies
|
| And fuck without rubbers (what) specialize
|
| in killin wives and grandmothers, who ya trustin, shit
|
| When Frank start bustin, Frank start somethin
|
| Killin ya gently, God meant me, to push a Bentley
|
| Me and Sean Combs takin broads home
|
| On the phone with the chip, with these Cristal chicks
|
| Bout to make our own porno flicks, my life’s the shit |