Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Hassan I Sabbah , by - Hawkwind. Release date: 07.07.2013
Song language: English
Hassan I Sabbah |
| Wooo! |
| There’s gonna be a lot of punchin' in this motherfucker! |
| Y’all better be swift with that punch button, Jack! |
| Biggie! |
| — Biggie! |
| I know how it feel to wake up fucked up |
| Pockets broke as hell, another rock to sell |
| People look at you like youse the user |
| Selling drugs to all the losers, mad buddha abuser |
| But they don’t know about your stress-filled day |
| Baby on the way mad bills to pay |
| That’s why you drink Tanqueray; |
| so you can reminisce |
| And wish, you wasn’t livin so devilish, ssshit |
| I remember I was just like you |
| Smokin blunts with my crew, flippin over 62's |
| Cause G-E-D wasn’t B-I-G |
| I had to get P-A-I-D that’s why my mom’s hate me |
| She was forced to kick me out, no doubt |
| Then I figured out licks went for twenty down South |
| Packed up my tools for my raw power move |
| Glock nineteen for casket and flower moves |
| For chumps tryin' to stop my flow |
| And what they don’t know will show on the autopsy |
| Went to see Papi to cop me a brick |
| Asked for some consignment, he wasn’t tryin' to hear it |
| Smoking mad Newports 'cause I’m due in court |
| For an assault that I caught in Bridgeport, New York |
| Catch me if you can like the Gingerbread Man |
| You better have your gat in hand cause man |
| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you |
| How I run the streets — I really wanna show you |
| How I’m clockin' G’s — I really wanna show you |
| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you |
| I had the master plan |
| I’m in the caravan on my way to Maryland |
| With my man Two-Tecs to take over this projects |
| They call him Two-Tecs, he tote two TECs |
| And when he start to bust, he like to ask: «Who's next?» |
| I got my honey on the Amtrak |
| With the crack in the crack of her ass |
| Two pounds of hash in the stash |
| I wait for hon to make some quick cash |
| I told her she could be Lieutenant |
| Bitch got gassed |
| At last, I’m literally loungin' black |
| Sittin' back, countin' double digit thousand stacks |
| Had to re-up; |
| see what’s up with my peeps |
| Toyota Deal-a-Thon had it cheap on the Jeeps |
| See who got smoked, what rumors was spread |
| Last I heard I was dead with six to the head |
| Then I got the phone call, it couldn’t hit me harder |
| We got infiltrated like Nino at the Carter |
| Heard Tec got murdered in a town I never heard of |
| By some bitch named Alberta over nickel-plated burners |
| And my bitch swear to God she won’t snitch |
| I told her: «When she hit the bricks I’ll make the hooker rich!» |
| Conspiracy — She’ll be home in three |
| Until then I looks out for the whole family |
| A true G, that’s me! |
| Blowing like a bubble; |
| In the everyday struggle |
| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you |
| How I run the streets — I really wanna show you |
| How I’m clockin' G’s — I really wanna show you |
| Come and run with me — I really wanna show you |
| I’m seeing body after body and our mayor Giuliani |
| Ain’t tryin' to see no black |
| Man turn to John Gotti |
| Guns and diamonds |
| Bitches put they tongues where the sun ain’t shinin' |
| Take keys 'til they spot us, snakes flee with consignment |
| This kid he got his crib raided, police found grams |
| They locked up, his whole fam; |
| moms, sister, his old man |
| Nigga bailed his moms out, then he told on his man |
| Now they home, actin like nuttin wrong, hustlin again |
| He tried to be the next Frank White, and Escobar |
| Pickin up coke a fiend holds it in a separate car |
| Cooks it up til it’s bright white, cut it tight right |
| Then he slings it to the fiends, lookin like Fright Night |
| Coppin the motorbikes, the scooters, countin dough on computers |
| High technology dealers, to the users and losers |
| Half-leg DiDi, try to swap drug for TV’s |
| Stores run out of baking soda from BK to QB |
| My niggas die for the cause, .45 on the drawer |
| City laws made by Big Nas and Biggie Smalls |
| Bitches, holdin my weight in they titties and bras |
| My bitches out of state get busy while they pushin my cars |
| Callin me up, callin me baller, call for they cut |
| Pretty hoes bring me my cash, swallow all of this nut |
| Seats on the Bent' stay nasty, push the dash |
| For the stash box is where the cash be; |
| watchin for task force |
| Cause I know they comin but I’m reachin my goal |
| Fuck bummin, I’m makin sure I leave this whole game wit somethin |
| Crib in West Palms for my dime, crib for my moms |
| Ridiculous, you lookin at the next Nicholas Barnes, baby |