Lyrics Just One of Those Days - Git Beats, Raekwon, Icewater

Just One of Those Days

Yo it’s three individuals, three different attitudes
Fat Tony own it all, mafia gratitude
(Ain't nothing funny man, yo, it’s Tony man
He sounds a little pissed off, I think he wants his money man)
Yo SI stand up, the event just started
Back to commence the prince, don’t get me started
Take it back to '88 with the square top maxes
Underground money so the feds don’t tax us
Hip-hop b-boys from the hood to the guedos
Slums in Texas, ya’ll reckless, but ya’ll still my peoples
Take money money, take money money money
You took a lil too much, now you can’t do much
(Listen man, if Tony catch him, he gon put that fat to him)
If you got cash, homie, give that back to him
Everything will be good, and everything will be hood
And everything will go the way it should
It’s just one of them days
Yeah everything was right in the hood
But in the night, we was up to no good
It’s just one of them days
Hustlas, thieves and gamblas
The world love us, and ya’ll can’t stand us
From the days of guzzling Yak to playing Ms. Pac
Now it’s on, automatic, ya’ll will get sacked
I’m a stealer that’ll pull out the smiff on you, cash a check
And now I’m on my way to flight, Pittsburg
These old niggas got a tab on me
A few of them want us dead, it’s Fat Tony and his a calvary
Sneak past the two thousand dollars, we stashed it
There he go, it’s Riviera, fat fucking cheap bastard
Now what we gon do is breeze
I kept the weight, smelling the trees
Now we up in OCBs
Should we get our money back?
Please
I’d rather give turkey and cheese
Tell his little fat ass freeze
I remember back in '88, cat’s pushing crazy weight
In my pops Cadillac with the baby face
Now I’m where the cops at, trying to make that cake
With a two finger ring and a name plate
We all in the same race, life’s a struggle
I love getting bread, but I don’t even like the hustle
If we fight, I’m more then like to cut you
Cause back in the day, there was no guns, we had to fight with knuckles
Hangin out where the thugs at
We was goin to school, leather garments with the gloves to match
The game ain’t changed, brothas still bubbling crack
And the plan was hand to hand, just to double it back
And you gotta have something to stack
Cause these New York streets nowadays ain’t nothin but rats
Dice games, nice change, get one in your hat
They called for your bread, and you ain’t gettin none of it back