Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song You Aint Smart, artist - Mase. Album song Double Up, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 19.04.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bad Boy
Song language: English
You Aint Smart |
What, what |
What, what, what |
What, what, what |
(All Out) |
What, what, what, what, what |
(Take it back to the streets, mutha fucka) |
What, what, what, what, what |
Yo, this for my niggas in the streets |
(What what what what) |
Foreign cars and the jeeps |
(What what what what) |
Make about a fuckin' million in a week |
(What what what what) |
When I can’t forget that we all still street |
Yo, yo |
You know a nigga that’s sniffin', that’s always in the kitchen |
Bagin' shit up, there’s always something missin' |
A nigga that’s speeding, bound to have a collision |
Bound to be in prison, or bound to pop a mission |
So if you got dogs, nigga, let 'em go |
If a mob fuckin' truck right, let 'em know |
We got the same guns that you got, but better though |
And next time we in some shit nigga, you will know |
See I’m pushed to the point that I put something down |
And I stand over your head, like look at you now |
And the kids in the parks start lookin' around |
Like, «Mommy come here, look, look, look what we found» |
Wit' me it’s more intense, nigga |
So if you ain’t goin' hard, stay on the bench, nigga |
And you know when I come, I leave no prints nigga |
And when you die, it won’t be at my expense nigga |
Nigga, nigga |
— Yo, you ain’t as smart as you think |
And I know you ain’t as smart as you think |
(Take it back to the streets) |
You talk crazy on the phone, bring niggas to your home |
Hey yo, you ain’t as smart as you think |
(Take it back to the streets) |
Hey yo, you ain’t as smart as you think |
And I know you ain’t as smart as you think |
(Take it back to the streets) |
You leave a thug wit' a hoe and you think you on the low |
Hey yo, you ain’t as smart as you think |
Yo, yo |
Not only do I know the rights, I know the wrongs |
Mo' money, mo' bitches, yeah, you know the song |
And if you claim you a nigga that know me long |
And you should know I’mma die with my Rolley on |
I ain’t no punk, I ain’t no chump, I ain’t no whimp |
Ain’t got no cane, ain’t got no ming, ain’t got no limp |
Money exempt, instead you niggas are blimp |
And every bitch in every state know Mase is the pimp |
See I’m unlike the ones who fail you, when I know where you |
Live, I’mma send my kid to take care of you |
I’ll bring it to my man if he try to spare you |
I’d tie something up if I wanted to scare you |
Make it where your own shadow won’t stand near you |
And they send the trauma unit to come repair you |
Now there you are nigga, in the fuckin' reservoir |
With your Bentley, we don’t give a fuck about your car |
Who you are |
Yo, yo |
You can’t never love a man so much you can’t doubt him |
Let him know certain shit you gotta do without him |
And if ya got guns, don’t leave home without it |
You gon' kill a man, there’s ways to go about it |
See I never kill a man, and I do it vainly |
I won’t ever let a mutha fucka know I’m angry |
Cuz when I get caught and they come arraign me |
It be a surprise witness that come to hang me |
I figure, if I’mma do it, I’mma do it my way |
Set 'em on Sunday, have 'em by Friday |
Then Sunday, I’mma meet 'em on the highway |
See where his exit is and keep it movin' |
Monday I’m off the exit |
All I wanna find out is where the complex is |
And by Tuesday I’m sittin' in the complexes |
All I wanna find out is where the address is |
And by Wednesday, it just so happen you get shot in the knee |
A nigga tried to run away and dropped the key |
Now you in the hospital, not critical |
Frontin', makin' a scene, bring the whole block wit' you |
Friday hit and you ain’t got no clique wit' you |
Need somebody help you with your leg, got your bitch wit' chu |
Soon as you get home and put the key in the door |
Click, clack, now get on the floor, I told you nigga |