Lyrics Streets is Callin' - Ed O.G, Pete Rock, Diam

Streets is Callin'

Yeah, Edo.
G, nigga
Uh, Diamond D, nigga
Jaysaun, nigga
Yeah.
what!
Yo
I spit the factuals, planned out tactical to capture you
No preservatives, additives, all natural
I’m too practical, makin hits don’t tacker you
Ball in TWO eras, like Shaq or Bob McAdoo
The 80s' showed us what the guns and crack’ll do
Shackle you, you movin forward or you standing still
The look of hate, we try to avoid
Cause it’s easily annoyed when it’s hungry or unemployed
Before my team gets deployed, and shit gets destroyed
Life is not to be lost, it’s to be enjoyed
When lights flash off, ideas get passed off
You either doin nothing or you workin your ass off
There ain’t no in-between, when you intervene
Especially when you in the Bean, get blown to smithereens
You ain’t gotta agree or okay it
Disagree with what I say, but respect my right to say it mother-
(Edo.G)
If you listen real close, my nigga, you gon' hear the streets callin (callin)
While you stuck in that 9-to-5, we chillin overseas toruin (we tourin)
You swear that you rock the spot but, son, your stage show’s boring (boring)
The answering machine is full so tell these hoes stop callin (stop callin)
When the four-fifths lift, it’ll shift all your back discs
Iron wrist style with a swift spinnin back fist
Knock you off your axis, we do this just for practice
Maybe just to keep the skills sharper than the cactus
We don’t fear none, never shotta fear one
Walk through the city, torch your hood with a flare gun
In LA, sip Parrot Bay and Lime Rickey
Rock Chuckers and crisp Dickies, grinnin and sportin big hickeys
Diamond D, Jaysaun, and Edo.
G
Swiss cheese you with the chrome max for snitchin on them phone taps
Organized crime, we buggin on your landlines
It’s us who booby-trapped your tour bus with the landmines
We ride in Mass plates in Celtics jerseys
Assassinatin rappers from Cali to the Tri-State
You in a deep sleep, physique street sweeped
In your Jeep, slumped over in them burgandy seats
We gon' miss you
Yo, now when the bulls come runnin, I’ma plead the fifth
Screamin out the sunroof like, «Eat a dick!»
You can find me at the Four Seasons beatin a chick
And I’m old school, I still smoke weed in the flicks
So what the fuck y’all want from me?
I don’t play those games son, nobody gotta front for me
You a girly man, couldn’t do a 1-to-3
And you’ll get it in the back if you run from me
Exqui-zy, I’ma raise the stakes
I got 'em in the kitchen butt naked, whippin up eggs and steaks
And if I, let off two shots, your legs’ll break
Get my hands on the pipe, give your man a white
Niggas heavy on the lactose and light on the raw
And you feel like a man when you fightin your whore
Gave me a funny look and landed right on the floor
And you can still see the knuckle prints right on your jaw