Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Da Story, artist - Noreaga. Album song N.O.R.E., in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 15.06.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Militainment Business
Song language: English
Da Story |
It was, four in the mornin got a call on the cell |
What the hell, you niggaz just shot at? |
Yo they missed her, blazed most fired pistols |
Now it’s our turn, to play calypsos |
Yo, me and you, meet me by the two |
A war goin on, that’s involvin the crews |
Bring both your arms, Rel and Moose down in St. John’s |
I wish my nigga was home, the black Fonz |
Yo we rock charms as big as Vegas |
Different crews of different size try to player hate us Top of the league like Bulls and y’all cats is Lakers |
Trash since Magic left, but he was the greatest |
Aiyyo we call Shan, yo Shan peace God |
You and Maze got the info? |
Them cats that tried to shoot Moose’s hitmen yo? |
A nigga named Ricky, from the Bronx, cold wop city |
Thugged out, shoot his gat mad sickly |
I laid low, called Big Pun and Fat Joe |
Them niggaz my click, we three amigos -- they said |
that they knew the cat, exactly where he live at And when I get there, just blaze God and don’t look back |
Cause Ricky got no kids and no wifey |
So when I get there God it’s like more than likely |
There’s Ricky like Ricardo, plus Renaldo |
So when I get there, take the coat, plus the cargo, what? |
Chorus: Maze |
We strong-arm, blazin firearm long kong |
When the beef come niggaz storm on Yo like a day pass, I’m bandana’d up with a mask |
Just shot up the whole spot, crib to grass |
Pissed in his toilet, on his walls, in his halls |
Cut Ricky from his neck to his balls |
Anyone can bust a gun and stab a nigga is real |
Cause you gotta have the guts for the way that it feels |
Word got back, them niggaz said Ricky a rat |
All that, coke we took yea we cooked the crack |
The police don’t really want us, they want the coke back |
It’s impossible, just ask the word by the hospital |
Across from the mall right in Hoffman Park |
It’s in tennis bags, guarded by a hundred Iraqs |
Yo we swerve low, beside the Jake, there go, Roberto |
The brother of Ricky, he 'posed to be wild, it’s gettin deep |
How he knew where I’m at, how he knew how I eat? |
The fools pulled out, no doubt, Roberto grabbed the sick? |
We hit the spot, then we hopped in the whips |
Now it’s a chase on the highway, the L-I-E's |
Yo them fools ?, niggaz drive by me Iraq banner, not he,? |
aqui |
Aiyyo we just crashed into the pole, now we roll |
another Dutchie, calm down and stroll |
on foot, my whole click, got control |
of the whole output, now we roll |
Yo any nigga be a man for a minute y’know |
Then he, turn around once he know you got dough |
It’s like a cycle, that read psycho, man in the mirror |
like Michael, my whole click down to snipe you |
Since then, Roberto had beef, with melanin men |
Every nigga he hate, was darker than him |
Older niggaz than him, stay buggin on him |
Tellin him he weak, he ain’t touch my skin |
But once again CNN prevail, tho-rough |
Cause even the G-est don’t really understand Hell |
I did this, from Iraq, to livin the cell |
So y’all niggaz know, what? |
Meet you back in Hell what? |