Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Young G's, artist - Puff Daddy.
Date of issue: 19.04.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Young G's |
Intro: Biggie |
Uhh, check it out, uhh |
Fuck all that pretty shit |
Takin it back to the gutter for you motherfuckers |
Niggaz know the deal |
Niggaz know who the Don is Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one |
Peep game, uhh, what, what |
Verse One: Puff Daddy |
Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars |
Come fuck with these stars up in luxury cars |
We built them radars to stay free from the cops |
Crucial choices to make, like A-C or the drop |
Are we gonna stop? |
Shit man never my squad go broke |
Your squad arti-choke |
Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke |
Ain’t no joke, when your ones don’t show |
Nigga I know, might say 'Been There Done That’like Dre |
Through hard work I earn the vault |
Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt |
Got nice watches nice cars nice bitches and rings |
Guess it’s safe to say a nigga like me got nice things |
Can’t relate to motherfuckers, who ain’t go no cake |
When you all fucked up, and can’t get no break |
When your fake ass friends, don’t help you out when you need it Be on some real bullshit, politely tell you to beat it Fuck that, get your own nigga, don’t ask me for shit |
That’s what I did, now they all askin for hits |
Nigga it’s on for the simple fact I let it be known |
We still fly but seperately cause now I, charter my own |
Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous |
Billboard charts should tell us, they can’t touch us Why niggaz bring the ruckus? |
Because release day is bigger than Mandela’s, motherfuckers |
Just some ghetto boys |
Living in these ghetto streets -- these ghetto streets |
And everyday they gotta fight to stay alive |
It’s just reality |
Verse Two: Jay-Z |
Yeah, make you a deal, check |
These here’s the dog years and motherfuckers don’t shed |
I try to bring you life but motherfuckers want dead |
So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead |
Cause when it’s on, then it’s on, the shots flowin through your head |
I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread |
Some say I been here before because of the way I zone |
Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin of Rome |
Reoccuring, that he thinks like that cause he’s observing |
Won’t be known until I’m gone and niggaz study my bones |
Mentally been many places, but I’m Brooklyn’s own |
In the physical, onee seems, like a lost body |
In fact my thoughts don’t differ much from that of God body |
But it’s the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me to the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin me cause |
I got it locked like the late Bob Marley |
Pardon me y’all, the great Bob Marley |
Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that’s gone |
Niggaz that got killed in the field and all the babies born |
Know they ain’t fully prepared for this New World Order |
So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters |
You walk em through it, you know, talk em through it Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it Destined for greatness and y’all knew this, when I doubled the pie |
Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of B-W-I (in school) |
I hated algebra but I loved to multiply |
And I told my nigga Big I’d be multi before I die |
It’s gonna happen whether rappin or clappin have it your way |
Cause if that’s my dough you’re trappin, I’m clappin your way |
Verse Three: Notorious B.I.G. |
Damn it feel good to see people up on it |
Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn’t flaunt it My brain is haunted, with mean dreams |
GS’s with BB’s on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer |
than Richie, quickly, niggaz wanna hit me If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat |
High caliber gats is all I fuck with, now peep the rough shit |
in my circumfrence, mad bitches, with mad lucci |
Bulletproof vestes under they coochie |
Spittin my uzi, don’t lose me, my trigga niggaz represent |
Drivin dirty in J-30's gettin bent |
And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies |
I be smokin trees in Belize when they find me While you still killin niggaz with punany, like heiny |
and Cyrus up in Cypress fuck you raw you on the floor with the virus |
While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke |
Got lawyers watchin lawyers so I won’t go broke, now check it Them country niggaz call me Frank White |
I’m squirtin off in my loft of course I know my shit’s tight |
Sunrise open my eyes no surprise |
Got my shorty flyin in with keys taped to her thighs |
With all the utensils, who hang my china thing |
She half black half oriental eighty-six she got me rental |
The situation ain’t accidental. |
What? |
From a, from a young G’s perspective. |
(repeat 2X) |
Chorus 2X to fade |