| Yo god, I’m tryna stack and get a castle, cook lyrical keys in the lab
|
| Bag 'em on 2 inch plates, DAT’s too
|
| Organized rime, time is money
|
| Hustle nickels of vinyl, cassettes are dimes and a CD’s a twenty
|
| Yo, I used to roll with the thugs, who sold drugs
|
| And put slugs in dealers who turned squealers
|
| The cap pealers, high rollers, big money wheelers
|
| Niggas who’ll spank a nigga, in front of his moms without feelings
|
| The transporters, importers and exporters
|
| Putting hits out on P.O.'s, judges and sargeants and news reporters
|
| Most of the Gods I used to do crimes with
|
| Ended up in Sing-Sing infirmary, getting their asshole stitched
|
| Wifey with a switch, ya godfather turned snitch
|
| They up North, while we out in New York, trying to get rich
|
| I worked my way up from grindin and measurin
|
| Credit card schemes and crimes and embezzlin
|
| I kept climbin Sugar Hill to get the treasures and
|
| Striving for diamonds and a million dead presidents
|
| Some left murder weapons, fingerprints and evidence
|
| Hot hit with 25, the feds sabotaged their residence
|
| Scrambling to get the cream, kept the rap dream
|
| Living on 2 planes of reality caught in between
|
| Wanted the best of both worlds chasing material
|
| Snake niggas play the priest
|
| Throwing the dirt at my burial
|
| My world consisted of sex, lust, money and l’s
|
| Now I get lifted off exodus 20 and 12
|
| My role models, were the brothers on the corner who sold bottles
|
| Out on parole the mind and soul of aristotle
|
| Red Hook was like a mafia flick
|
| Never got to cop me a brick
|
| We used to plot to stick poppi and shit
|
| Sitting pretty in a white land, my man had the right plan
|
| Flights to get his head right in white sands
|
| Sipping cristal, pimping a pistol
|
| Till his ass got shipped up to fishcale
|
| He used to cop 2 bricks watch his chips pile
|
| Now he sit in a cell, praying for a mis-trial
|
| When DEA rushed the crib we flushed an ounce on them
|
| Handcuffed in the hall and we still tried to bounce on them
|
| Hit rock bottom then we catch another loan shark
|
| Scale our rocks, to get a 8 ball hit the pawn shop
|
| Street dreams weighing a cake on a triple beam
|
| Heat schemes, playing for papes my team crippled fiends
|
| Investing money into street stocks, my peeps used to keep Glocks
|
| Slap you up and give you speed knots
|
| In the diamond district yanking ice chains
|
| The Gods used to heist trains
|
| Then late at night stick the dice games
|
| 5 bombs of lah and rock up in the mailbox
|
| C.O.'s had niggas sell rocks from their cell blocks
|
| Most of the gods got bagged and got indicted
|
| Some had open cases out of state and they got extradicted
|
| Some tried to fight it, blew trial on their appeal
|
| Got uncorrect bails, for smuggling guns and direct sales |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Organized Rime Pt. 2 , by - Shabazz the Disciple. Song from the album The Book of Shabazz (Hidden Scrollz), in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп