| We got hits for years, I got a bitch for every day of the year
|
| We got chips, ice with Glocks and clips
|
| Push the hottest whips and shit we came from the bottomless pit
|
| Now we reign on the top of the shit
|
| Foul things in my past that I’ll never forget
|
| Would I last, will I die young I never gave up
|
| Now we up
|
| In the class for delf, the most felt stay to ourself
|
| We playing with the cards that was dealt like
|
| First time I seen a man get killed that shit was mad real
|
| Damn that was my brother
|
| And I love him like mine, I promise to this day everything will be fine
|
| So we foreverly shine, now we vow to divide pie
|
| What’s yours is mine
|
| And for y’all faggot ass niggas we gon' ?hogged? |
| them blind
|
| In and out, stick and move, it’s just a matter of time
|
| And I stay with a grimy ass pistol on my side
|
| And I name it four-five
|
| Yeah die nigga die
|
| You won’t see it coming
|
| And you won’t know why
|
| When you look into my eyes tell me what you see
|
| We be the realest motha fuckas from these New York streets
|
| We gon' lay it down flat, way it supposed to be
|
| Knitty, Gambino, Gotti, Chinky, G. Part Three
|
| Come On (Loud Chanting)
|
| Infamous Special Edition the hoes pay attention
|
| When we rock cause friction, get plucked out position
|
| Platinum plates we be pissing them out
|
| Haze with stout
|
| Them joints we pull 'em out, do them things that you read about
|
| Stick and move in and out quick never the easy route
|
| So fuck what you be about we care less
|
| I’ll throw my gun up in your mouth and blow off your head
|
| Through all the foul shit, the hurt
|
| The hard work
|
| The dirt, the pain
|
| Until it stop on top, we remain
|
| Simple and plain
|
| Rock long chains and ice rings
|
| Timb boots, baggy jean suits ready to shoot
|
| With plushed out cribs, multiple guns and clips
|
| I got a thousand niggas ready to flip and kill shit
|
| What, niggas don’t want it
|
| When you look into my eyes tell me what you see
|
| We be the realest motha fuckas from these New York streets
|
| We gon' lay it down flat, way it supposed to be
|
| Knitty, Gambino, Gotti, Chinky, G. Part Three
|
| Come On
|
| (Loud chanting until end) |