Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Art & Life (Chi-Roc), artist - Twista. Date of issue: 26.01.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Art & Life (Chi-Roc) |
| Yeah… |
| Young Chris, M-E's, Free-Wheez… The boy Twista… |
| Holla… |
| My life on the track… (Okay…), |
| Up and comin'… State Prop… |
| Check game… (That's right…), |
| Get low… (Get low…), |
| It’s the Roc… |
| Better than ever (Holla)… |
| Yeah… |
| It’s the motherfuckin' Roc bitch, you hotter than us? |
| (Okay, okay) |
| Ever since a young buck, I been on the come up, |
| Known to dish the raw, dish the law if they come up, |
| And cheddar 'till the sun up… |
| If there’s a ransom and the law get involved, then we never get it summed up, |
| Never put ya gun up, if ya come round me, |
| I go to war wit' niggas 'round the corner from 'round me, |
| You can front 'round me, but I read through that, |
| Wit' the mili' and I ain’t talkin' 'bout no Segal mac, |
| Niggas see shoot back, we can see to that, |
| Hit yo front letters see through back, bring yo peoples back, |
| And I used to grind out on my friends spot, 'till he’s mom wanted my Tim-bots, |
| Now my paint got me discounts, or trans-quo all around the world, |
| like I was signed to |
| Pimp-dot, |
| And if it’s ten targets and I got ten shots, |
| I’m tryin' to leave at least hit nine out of them ten shot… |
| I got my mind on my money, money on mind, |
| But some say its a gift, I don’t write but I rhyme, |
| I, complete songs with just one try, |
| Tell 'em it’s no lie, I (beef?) all my life dog, I never think, it’s already |
| there, |
| I find ways to say-it, so you motherfuckers hear-it, |
| And when you hear it you feel it, you know its real (so…), |
| This is how I live it, how its pictured for real, (nigga…), |
| I’m shittin for real… |
| Diamonds against wood, underground king for real, |
| Big crib when I lay, yeah I’m livin' for real, |
| Trust me the guns come off the shelf whenever shit’ll get real, |
| Automatics and the extended clips, that’s what I’m hittin' wit', |
| Dummies in the black rhinoes, |
| (Yeah…) They be killin' shit, |
| Mask up kidnap shit, that’s how my niggas get, |
| Chi-town, NYC, that’s how my niggas get… |
| Yes, just picture me rollin', |
| The smith and wesson’ll stay goin' put a hole in yo chest, |
| It’s just, another hustle paper gettin' made and fold ya, |
| Mad, you street niggas finally made it, |
| I swoop five, he know the ride, heavily loaded, |
| Deliver pies like cake, they go straight through yo payment, (Yup…), |
| Chump… You don’t really wanna war, |
| With the State Prop clique, if ya clique shot us, (Why us???), |
| S-P game so damn tough, the 4 4 in the 5th tucked ya’ll cant hang, |
| Transporter turned rapper, get a can for to fill my life, |
| Still accomplished, wanna fill they cups? |
| The rap version of Mandela call my bluff, |
| Well still the street dwellers feel my pain (My pain…), |
| I spit a verse and split a clip in the rain, |
| A fool-proof when the full force open you (What???), |
| Twista will rock you, you don’t want the thug apostle to pop you, |
| Hostile when I drop you, turnin' everything colossal to fossiles, |
| I speak street gospel, all they life I spit words and paint portraits, |
| For real niggas that hold down they fortress and serve off of porches, |
| Hit 'em in the body wit' the powerful forces, that’ll end all your data, |
| Make you clean up your house, bag up an ounce, hit the dance floor and bounce, |
| We blessed wit' the talent, fuck wit this clique, it ain’t gon' be easy, |
| 'Cause you fuckin' wit' Twist if you fuck wit Chris, Bleek and Free-wheezy, |
| So speak and breath easy… Or to shoot ya’s my future in 3D, |
| I like whore’s, I’m from a city full of Vice Lords, and GD’s, |
| Breeds, and Souls, 2−6's, Kings, GD’s and Stones, |
| Spanish cobras and all the true soldiers survivin' are gone, |
| Watch me spit if for the killers and hustler’s, flippin' all the pounds and |
| bricks, |
| Hate on me I’m gonna bust at you hoes, and I put eleven down wit' a clip, |
| Niggas servin' fiftys and hundreds, when I see you and I’m on yo tip, |
| Twista and this East Coast Regime, it’s that Chi-Roc shit |