Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Word On The Street, artist - Inspectah Deck. Album song Uncontrolled Substance, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 12.09.1999
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: LOUD
Song language: English
Word On The Street |
Smooth getaway, yeah |
One time on my ass (getaway) |
'Bout to make this hundred yard dash… |
With the cash |
Yo, I’m fleein' the crime scene on the Major Deegan |
Power steerin', lost the handle and the Jeep spin |
Deep in the seat, high-pursuit by the precinct |
My co-defendant turned state and let the beast in |
They rushed my old Earth lab |
Grabbed 50 G’s cash and the stash, and let the Glocks splash |
Son dash down the fire escape past the weed gate |
The weed gate, thought it was a sting, cocked the Tre' 8 |
Jakes givin' chase, now the dread’s must 'scape |
I was creepin' down the staircase, we met face-to-face |
In the lobby, cold stares, show no fear |
We out for now, but next time we might go there 'cause Po’s here |
Must’ve turned down the walkie-talkie |
I thought I heard one tell the other that he caught me |
Damn! |
They got my man, he knows shit |
Bitch nigga that I rolled with told shit! |
I laid low, 007 'til it get dark |
He told where my Wis' live and where the whip’s parked |
Got my address off the license plate |
That eliminate, headin' to my next restin' place |
Uncertain, my Wis' peeped from behind the curtain |
And seen the high-beam from the chicky lurkin' |
The high-speed chase got me swervin' |
I needed a diversion, crashed in the side of a Suburban |
In the mirror, I’m starin' at the eyes of the law |
Couldn’t jump out, fucked up the drivers-side door |
Called China, «Meet me in a half with the Pathfinder |
No time to talk, I’ll fill you in when I find ya» |
Stopped at a neighborhood diner, brought me some attire |
And swore to hold me down in the fire |
(The word on the street) They can’t trace my rap sheets |
Still, I creep swift, tryin' to slip all heat |
(The word on the street) This thing’s way beyond deep |
Promise me you’ll keep ya mouth closed with no leaks |
(What's the word on the street?) The evidence concrete |
My Co-D mysteriously got set free |
(The word on the street) The photographs let the beast splash Through the |
projects the last few weeks |
Yo, you bein' watched like you new on the block from roof tops |
Get your moves on, these hot shots pop, music stops |
Party’s over, bold soldier move for his holster |
Shot the lights out, struck the bouncer in his shoulder |
Hard times for Po, I can’t control the masses |
Scream for more, backstage, we sling V.I.P. |
passes |
Jakes sprayin' mace, riots takin' place |
When the Clan show they face, the fans slow they pace |
Get your blunt rolled, fuck the Five-0, they want it, dun' know |
Bitches get trampled, niggas wildin' in the front row |
Fire Marshall catch a beat-down, tryin' to cut my sound |
Radio dispatcher, back-up, bustin' rounds |
Without intermission from a crouch-position |
Bullets ricocheted off the strobe-light, strikin' Christians |
My nigga slipped in, 'nuff ammunition to bust back |
Fuck that, them outta-town cats’ll take the rap |
It’s war on the dance floor, quarter to 4 |
Before we peeled off, they tried to seal off the back door |
Gats for the beast, high-pursuit down the side street |
Shot up my getaway Jeep, crashed the front glass |
And blew the head-rest off the passenger seat |
I grabbed the heat, ditched the whip and then escaped on feet |
While the locals interrogated for names and photos |
Work for Five-0, swappin' info for doe |