| Yo man get ya ass in here man
|
| You know the fuckin’Police lookin’for you man
|
| Come on man, them niggaz just left here man
|
| Come on man you know we got mad fuckin’blow
|
| Up in the Motherfuckin’lab son
|
| This nigga’s off the hook man
|
| Yo Chef talk to these niggaz man
|
| We baggin’ounces in the back of the Maz'
|
| Ostrich on, Wollriches, three Quarter-ness
|
| A.D.I.D.A.S. |
| wit Stan Smith’s
|
| The grant’s on the Stove
|
| And Aunt Lo about to come to the Lab-o
|
| She givin’me some credit for clothes
|
| That’s the slang work for bricks, dicks
|
| Analyze you neva know who lookin'
|
| It’s deranged world — wit snitches is Enterprisin'
|
| Black Man hold on, like Magnums in the Wind
|
| Cuz when it get cold, parole give a homey like ten
|
| What’s the prognosis: drugs, guns, and ounces of Gold fish
|
| Fly reefer out-town, bitches is stone six
|
| And birds back in 18 and played C.R.E.A.M
|
| Gray beam, it’s lean new A.D.I.D.A.S
|
| jackets, flippin’up small dean
|
| Visualizin’portraits, fresh cuts
|
| Brand new Porsche’s
|
| Going wit hand-to-hand, servin’the Source
|
| Yo, runnin’from the Police
|
| This day-to-day lifestyle where niggaz get arraigned
|
| And get chain, it’s like Psycal (??Psycho??)--blao!
|
| Drug Dealers, Star and Celebrities (Ghetto Celebs)
|
| Even dudes wit a few felonies (A few felonies)
|
| In 'The PJ’s’this what they tellin’me (Tellin'who?)
|
| Sniffin’real hard but you not smellin’me (Smell me)
|
| The crowd yellin’for 'Chef''Killa'and 'Pete Rock'(Pete Rock)
|
| Got 'em movin’like the Millennium beat box (Beat Box)
|
| Shit is all hood 'til they hear the heat cock (Whooo!)
|
| Fall back and let the beat rock
|
| Degrees of experience qualifies me to speak in certain areas
|
| Where many can’t reach, so I prepared a speech for ya’ll
|
| To then listen while I spit the hot venomous shit
|
| My whole Clique sick, infested wit the itchy tigger finger mob related
|
| Noodle-leanie universal flag Beanie
|
| Son you wouldn’t want to see me black down, Masta .4 pound
|
| Clip full of hallow tip round
|
| Turn the fuckin’sound up My cup runneth over Hennessey, the Bill Bixby
|
| Ninja Scroll, niggaz that roll
|
| My son did four in the hole
|
| Tenant population, neva told, facin’Parole
|
| Sipped the old gold style, beat it in trial
|
| My mild-mannered .9 Bandit, flow drunk
|
| Look at Skunk weed stickin'
|
| Razor sharp rip 'em, bites lift 'em
|
| We at the Jam direct
|
| The Ghetto Gospel, collaboration
|
| One word could change the nation
|
| No doubt!
|
| Tuna Salad and Puma rackin'(??)
|
| pushin’through the projects, captain
|
| Get your money, yo show me no slackin'
|
| We drive the meanest Joints
|
| shoot through Medina wit a Evisu Jeans and Nina’s
|
| Stop by Juniors we hittin’cheeba
|
| Briefly, crackers observe
|
| You got the undercovers
|
| Niggaz just love us, we know they suckers
|
| You know what? |
| — What? |
| Mosey don’t be nosey yo!
|
| Watch these fake niggaz wit these Thank You cards
|
| Them shits is bogey
|
| Snitches in the hood up to no good
|
| We would kill alot of Motherfuckers but the timin’ain’t good
|
| So while my bankroll climbin'
|
| I be out on consignment, breezin'
|
| Ki’s wit 29 letter melted cheeses
|
| All of my papers now in real estate
|
| White folks been doin’this since '69
|
| It’s billions and killer weight
|
| So prosperous moves wit the jewels, wit Wu Nikes on It’s cool don’t eva act like niggaz ain’t who (??)
|
| One!
|
| Yea! |
| we just sit back — in the Luxury Toasters
|
| Slidin’through the Motherfuckin’projects
|
| Stand away from you fake ass Motherfuckers
|
| Layin’out in the BarberShop, gettin’fucked up cuts
|
| We don’t respect ya’ll (Don't respect ya’ll)
|
| Knaw’sayin'? |
| This is Shala Lewis Rich
|
| Pete Rock, Masta Killa, The Vatican
|
| One! |
| I’m gone |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song The PJs , by - Masta Killa. Song from the album Masta Killa Presents: The Next Chamber, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп