| I got white pills and white powder
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| It’s white Bill, sell it right over the counter
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| Get your hydro with a quarter-pounder
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| I know all about it, homie, Uncle Howie told me
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| I’m on top of New York, call my homie Q-Tony
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| Call me Bill Bixby, real shifty
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| You fail in your attempts to hit me like the kid that tried to kill fifty
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| They say that hard times inspires great music
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| If I have a dime you bet your life I ain’t losing
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| I’m a true hustler general, executive rank
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| The type of person that would stab you in the neck with a shank
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| The type of person that would beat you to death with a bat
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| And to make sure you dead, shoot you in your head with a gat
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| The world’s a ghetto, but holding never crossed me
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| Cause I don’t care if you a rap fan, you gonna listen to metal
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| Poke you with the pistol, pussy, have you pissing a puddle
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| Twisted and troubled, smoke you in an instant and crumble
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| This Thing of Ours
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| Who do you know?
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| How do you say?
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| How do you do?
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| Lay you the fuck out, out of your crew
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| The the honorable few
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| My familia to the end, throw my nine up at you
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| I got weapons to weaken your pride and sanity
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| Howie’s nephew, the Puerto Rican side of the family
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| Q-Capital, I’m attacking you with the mic cord
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| Fuck the rap battles, bitch, we gonna fight for it
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| I spit up for the fans and old rap for rappers
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| Pull up the magnum and cap all you rap bastards
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| The number one Wiseguy with a gun to make your eyes cry
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| Told your honey to lay on her stomach and raise her thighs high
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| Get a percentage of the corner action
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| The wrong reaction could get you killed and leave a former captain
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| Many cheat, so many rob, many kill
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| I seen snitches sell the family out like they was Henry Hill
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| I strike this lame game until the game’s hurt
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| I might make a name change and kill you like James Burke (?)
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| It’s Tony, Anthony coming with the big boy’s plans
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| And when it’s time to cross over I’m gonna floss with my fans
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| It’s a matter of trust, honor and respect
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| Men of few words
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| We got goons with burners that do the talking that you heard
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| Snitches and bullshiters, bitches and bean-shooters and backstabbers
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| I seen (?) talking to Huda
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| 187 on the Huda cop
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| How do we really know you a cop, Mel?
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| Pop pop, send you to cop hell
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| Top of the world, popping the trunk for bodies to burn
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| We all popping bottles until Gotti returns
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| I’ve called for a brawl for the young feeble man to see me
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| Revenge in the hands of young Vito Angelini
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| Bullseye where your man stand at the (?)
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| Snatch the fame, they won’t even know what’s missing
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| Organized crime against labor prohibition
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| Since I got the after school job at the cab stand
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| The beat spins, I’m like Gina with deep swings
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| But I get nowhere unless the team wins |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song This Thing of Ours, artist - Ill Bill. Album song Howie Made Me Do It, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп