Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Legal Drug Money, artist - Lost Boyz. Album song Legal Drug Money, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1995
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Legal Drug Money |
Here comes the real rough rap |
Shit is getting ill, cuz we the microphone wrath |
(Freaky Tah) |
Now for years, I’ve been trying to show the skills (show ya skills, nigga!) |
So I can do my thing with wifey and start knocking on some bills and then |
My peoples in the headlight yo (blaow!) so innocent |
Mr. Cheeks, yeah (a real nigga reprsenting now) |
I lived out in Queens, man, for years (hah!) |
I’m seeing ya brothers killing brothers, man, that means (more tears) |
Every day I’m trying and I’m seeing my niggas dying |
And I’m asking mom dukes (why you crying) |
I got a little man, my little man is getting older |
I wipe my wifeys eyes, every time she cries, as I hold her |
It’s tough coming up as a young black man |
Understand, see the world is ran by the Klan |
Just like Tom and Jerry with cheese |
And they seem to lock us down when they bring in the keys |
Well I guess that’s the way that is (what?) |
It’s time for Mr. Cheeks and Lost Boyz to get biz |
And get this Legal Drug Money |
I seen this nigga went crazy on the train |
At first I thought he was nuts but at the same time I feel the pain |
Cuz another niggas dead on the street over dope shit |
Like nigga where you run shit? |
It bothers me on the norm, I stand tall |
With my back against the wall, and my hand on my four-four |
(Mr. Cheeks: Aiyo, what about the world, Tah?) |
The world seems to bug me |
Don’t know who wants to kill me |
Don’t know who wants to love me |
Man, listen, I be keeping peace in my heart |
But if shit hit the fan, I rip shit apart |
I’m not with the beef and emotion, I’d rather smoke chom |
And dump a fat bong around the ocean |
I maintain keep my self up to par |
Got no appetite for it, cuz every critic like a falling star |
And on the real, kid, it ain’t nothing funny |
Freaky Tah, LB Fam, '94, Legal Drug Money |
You say it’s 94, I warm it up and give it to ya raw |
You say you wanna battle well prepare for the war |
I shuffle up and break them down cuz we catch 'em with the quickness |
My name is Mr. Cheeks and Mr Cheeks is next to sickness |
In the dictionary, I will bury any MC |
With violence, my crew or even try to go against me |
For real, I’d rather push an Ac' with some rims |
And bounce around Queens with some baggy jeans and Timbs |
And chill, puff on a Phil' at will |
I got a baby boy to skill, it’s so much to keep it real |
Relax, I got a style smoother than a Saxon |
I looked into the mirror, say it clear than the Jackson |
Guy did, who shot the sheriff? |
Nigga, I did |
Where you from, Mr. Cheeks? |
Southside, kid |
Yo, on the real, man, it ain’t nothing funny |
'94, '95, '96, Legal Drug Money, chill |
Give it up, come out ya fucking pockets |
Put ya face to the ground, how do that sound? |
Go pound for pound, letting off a shot |
I’m walking down the block, then I say |
Yo, stop, then turn back to the Buddha spot |
You, know, how I flow |
Freaky Tah got the pizzy ass ho. |