| I’m all about making it happen, kid, instead of yappin'
|
| The cheddar stack, cat, I get it crackin', bringin' the action
|
| Center of attraction
|
| Late night on the creep trashin'
|
| Mashin' the party crashin'
|
| Rap with a passion
|
| Not a quitter or a forfeiter
|
| One of them raw rap cats with hollow point rhymes comin to hit ya
|
| I’m targeting my shot at all them fake rappers
|
| Them fake wannabe gun clappin' cats claimin' they the baddest
|
| Claimin' that they ran the streets ragged
|
| Knowin they chillin hard in the Village up in the gay bar talkin' to faggots
|
| I’m not a gangsta, and I’m not a thug nor a Blood or a Crip
|
| Strugglin' brotha tryin to hard to get rich
|
| I’ve been nice in this hip hop shit from way back when
|
| Days of The Jeffersons, Good Times to What’s Happening!
|
| You niggas want beef? |
| Then call my name out
|
| Still rockin' the Mecca and the Soul Brother like it just came out
|
| Let’s get it on, Lebanon, strong as an ox
|
| And I spit flows blowin' up yo' audio box
|
| Document my style, cool when I rock
|
| And I rush like the bus followin' my blocks
|
| G’s up, I’m on the set, y’all niggas freeze up
|
| I make dirty dollars, turn 'em in to clean bucks
|
| My stocks rise, it’s cool, it’s no surprise
|
| And them laws, the rules you make, I straight defy
|
| Rebel in the highest form, the fifth born
|
| Gully nigga on the track screamin' «It's on»
|
| Stop the DAT, rewind that
|
| Thoughts, combine that
|
| Criminal minds and rhymes, underline that
|
| Dollar dollar, street scholar, flow then ya follow
|
| Expert, puttin' in work for the next saga
|
| So yo, get your lean on
|
| Flows you fiend on
|
| Fuckin' with U. and N., the 2000 phenom
|
| Yeah, U. and N. sound greater than great
|
| Still though, holdin' my gizza knot, my name hold weight
|
| And you can bet your bottom dollar money mo' I make
|
| Let’s get this cake
|
| Son do what it takes
|
| Yeah, U. and N. sound greater than great
|
| Still though, holdin' my gizza knot, my name hold weight
|
| And you can bet your bottom dollar money mo' I make
|
| Let’s get this cake, c’mon
|
| Hold up… pause for the cause, you know
|
| You could call it telephone love tap
|
| High explosive experiment
|
| Situate a press up, bless up
|
| What’s up with you? |
| What you talkin'?
|
| Pocket fill when it feel
|
| Yeah, it’s good, like you should
|
| I’m Dino, begs no pardon
|
| Borrow no lending, begs no friends
|
| Ya hear me, all my mens love women, raw
|
| Links with mami Cuban or takes me back to Union
|
| Baby girl got cousins and now one of 'em frontin
|
| U.N. check her flagging me down faster than sound
|
| How we quick to pick me up in that Lex iced edition
|
| State your position, back jabbin this bone wishin
|
| Miss don’t have me went missing
|
| Put in everything, Dwight Gooden-nuff talk
|
| You can have a ball and go walk
|
| Hear me now, feel me later
|
| Later, Dino Brave’s smooth and then paid
|
| Feelin' this chick up, keepin' the stick up
|
| Fire for candlestick and trick a wick up
|
| A verbal contract with life was put out on you
|
| Now the harsh facts circle your world at
|
| Allah you like a wise author
|
| Sci-fi writings and novels
|
| Sliding over potholes
|
| Play King Arthur inside my brothel
|
| The size of waffles gunshot holes
|
| Blowing like the U. S Marshal or Louis Armstrong
|
| I knew when the fog’s gone, ya spotted
|
| And at the same time ya shot at
|
| Frollic with raps and fiber optics
|
| Like 4,5,6, hard to get at
|
| Sharp as an axe
|
| Order jockage
|
| Harm a trizzack, try and be modest
|
| Fiery thoughts burn like L’s of chronic
|
| Make your lungs black, sip gold hell in a bottle
|
| Blow L n' send him a hollow, that’s on the house
|
| Compliments on my corner morale, how I get down
|
| Chase his ass round like cat and mouse
|
| You feel my passion?
|
| Fuck life if I ain’t mackin'
|
| Niggas wanna see me stagnant
|
| Similar to two magnets
|
| We can never be a package
|
| A printed jewel up, show my crew love
|
| Before this rap shit, who could fool us?
|
| Beautiful lust
|
| Don’t think I’m too cool to bust
|
| Loot and do drugs
|
| Who’s who? |
| Few knew it was fool-proof
|
| But true it was, crime organizer
|
| Forty-fiver
|
| Hit your Porsche up, fuck you in lava
|
| Hit them to my product
|
| Just a taste was life threatenin
|
| Stretch his limbs out to five separate ends
|
| Pray on my fall and every sense
|
| Like I don’t know it
|
| I hold Macs posing in flicks like DeNiro in Ronin
|
| Yeah, U. and N. sound greater than great
|
| Still though, holdin' my gizza knot, my name hold weight
|
| And you can bet your bottom dollar money mo' I make
|
| Let’s get this cake
|
| Son do what it takes
|
| Yeah, U. and N. sound greater than great
|
| Still though, holdin' my gizza knot, my name hold weight
|
| And you can bet your bottom dollar money mo' I make
|
| Let’s get this cake |