Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song I Reps, artist - Queen Pen
Date of issue: 21.05.2001
Song language: English
I Reps |
William nigga |
Yeah! |
DJ Clue, Desert Storm, you know how we do things |
Q-u-double-e- radio |
And the question of the day |
Is who, and what you rep |
Caller number 1, you on the line |
Ayo its P, big chunky 40 inch chains |
I could fuck your woman, but I perfer brains |
I could duff you out wit guns and bang |
I’ma certified, bonofied, Mobb Nigga man |
This ain’t no '87 rap battle |
This is 2001, bloodsport, nigga i’ll get at you |
This is criminal shit, I’m so infamous |
I’m so gangsta, these niggas be nervous |
When we pop up, ya knees lock up |
Ya stomach catch butterflies |
And ya heart pumps |
Suppose to be scared, suppose to be 'wared |
When you see me get the fuck out my way |
Nigga I’m in here |
And I ain’t come for the glamour and glitz |
I came to fuck you up bad, get drunk, and find me a bitch |
So where you at girl, holla at the kid |
'Fore I slay one of these lame niggas in here, straight up |
(DJ Clue) |
Yeah, Caller number two |
You on the line |
I got some raps for the streets |
My niggas pack the heats |
My soldiers on the corner crushin up green meat |
For all the generations, and mothers ridin the trains |
To work for y’all crackers, for that bullshit pay |
I reps for my head that cops his weight |
That take trips uptown just to cop his haze |
I rep for them chicks givin brain in the rain |
That ain’t scared to be a freak, for the right pay |
I gots to rep for my familys thats stricten wit pain |
For buryin they boys to soon for this game |
I rep for my panthers thats locked away |
And??? |
sittin on deathrow countin down them days |
I rep for y’all bitches that work lizzie bags |
That sell hot shit, half price off of tags |
I rep for them chicks that write they own shit |
That live just like a live, to write they own shit |
Its 2001 bitch, stop frontin |
I rep for my baby mamas thats still walkin |
I rep for them chicks collectin P.A.&Wic |
Up in the hair and nail spots makin off the book chips |
I rep body snactchers, loyaly over passion |
I’m married to B.S.bitch, ain’t no question |
(DJ Clue) |
Caller number three, you on the line |
I rep money dealers, girls step like, «Cam you rock a lotta Prada» |
Look to her and said, «bitch I’m bout the dollar», holla |
I don’t like it anways, I feel enscadas hotter |
One get her, get her, good dog, got her, got her |
Cam is in a Lincolns Clipse |
Jay say Belvedere, now y’all drinkin the shit |
Please, oh my god brother, followin is not gutter |
Its a major trend setter for you cock suckers |
Insurance on my diamonds, my rocks covered |
If I’m wit a bitch, believe me I do not love her |
I’ma rap like a doobie and spliff |
My Uzi a click, yeah I did a movie a flick |
But I step to the director like, «look I’m not bitchin» |
Understand this homeboy, I’m not snitchin |
Killa Cam still be back in the hood |
Back where I should, plus I can’t act that good |
I could cook that coke, get them figures |
I could bust that gat, strip some niggas |
No homo, cause my life ain’t no motion picture |
Motion trigger, I open livers, cock the pump |
Pop the trunk, I drive em to the ocean nigga |
Peal em apart, let em know you dealin wit sharks |
Killa, P-Double, Queen Pen, Lee Low |
(DJ Clue) |
Yeah, DJ Clue |
You know how we do things |
Q-U-Double E radio |
And the question of the day is |
What you rep |