Lyrics Angels with Dirty Faces - Puff Daddy, Bizzy Bone

Angels with Dirty Faces

Big beef, (I was passin til the cops come
Ready, ready, ready, ready ready.)
big beefin with the mistress,
for the backs of the lions as we growl mutherfucker
we all livin in the last motherfuckin day, this is revalations
if it don’t go down now that mean nobody was wrong
and you face yourself with that question, for the answer.
the fuck do you believe in?
Let’s take a pie to the badguy
Zero well where my cateye dadeye
My flavour frame the raddle
Hot out, hot out of problem
My album hit the shelves we hustle for record sales
If my niggas stole hear my niggas thirty thousand tales
Get me squad cars excetera (Excetera) tell me my position as we yell (Yell)
This isn’t bullshit like pimples in the public
Made gratafying
If you don’t like my bullets set hell ta pink faction
L.A. Lugers start your mad punk
They really got a smash on And they would probly blast you
I’m married to the game and every year’s the same
Bullets rain all season
Heaven and Hell is only what you believe in Empty the shells and niggas give you the reason
Everyone one’s the type ta be stuckin, duckin and weavin
Probly breathin
My stories no fairy tail rich niggas ain’t neva sell
From my buck to the world
Gave my Glock to my girl
Don’t mix the kids with the Benz
Baby it ends if she sells woofin
Ohh playa ohh nigga
Gotta lot of shells to lock you down (x4)
Lookin theys bullets hit guerillas
Expressions can mean a lot to my stressin and progressin
You guessin I seen a lot
The papers got it stressin and impressin
We spin a lot
Confessions get us blessins from the Lord
We sin a lot
Wonderin «Will he let me in or not?»
I’s still tryin ta find a reason why
Because I’m a bad boy
They wanna label me a bad guy
Who am I?
It’s P Diddy muthafucka
Do or die?
Don’t give a fuck motherfucker
Two strikes no chicken types
It’s the type he bucks ammunition,
(Pistol shots) buck, bucks ammunition baby
He’s got the flavour the kind that got me still down
Run around me watch the hill down
So buck the best I’m hear now
Yes, best neva gone
Fresh out the foster home
If I had a just talked to the psychiatrist
Tell him my head is just blow with a sciness
Can’t you come ride with me?
Come ride with me?
Bubbye me with a gun
Slide the weed and rum
Come get high wit me You don’t talk weed wit me, Bizzy Bone
You don’t leave me anymore
Leave me bitch, shit I’ve slept on the floor (Ha ha ha)
Who dat left before?
Blackout tears the stackhouse
Criminals, detention aren’t they always bad
when I’m thinkin dem (Come on) doctor?
Incetiest, hiddyest, grittiest, shittiest
in the club smack the prettiest in a mini
Grittiest beef in with the mistress
Diddy the city I pitty with little kids picking up pennys
and niggas I thought I brought up with selling book for a living
making minimum wage like confetti, it’s gotta be a mistake
Y’all oughta don’t tell us and it’s just those seven elements
Don’t tell us it’s those seven elements
Dippin on in our lips for money and it don’t land upon that
We ready like 45 scripture
Make money like that, nigga, you know what I’m sayin
See what you niggas do to me I do to you
And if I’m who you came to see then do what you gotta do We can do it anywhere, right here, right there
And if you sleep turn your dream to a nightmare
Niggas gon creep
No sleep til the heat
They lookin at me funny, fuck a hoe get this money
It time for the misfits niggas bring ya clips
Boys on my mind
Packin bullets from the mines my brothas