| Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo | |
| Just got off the jack with my son thats up north | |
| Tellin me he's comin home, and how he's gettin off | |
| 'cuz his game was weak, killed two months, he's back in the streets | |
| With new plans, to expand, to jerk his mans man | |
| We had the ultimate stick up, drop, on the brick pick up | |
| But yo he can't, 'cuz he's still locked up | |
| Jump back on the horn 'cuz his vibe was strong | |
| Contacted the kid and told him lets be gone | |
| I talked to poet first, yo son, i got a mish-shon | |
| Grab the ammunnish-shon, pump up your pythons | |
| I know a spot where niggas gettin it, and we can flip on | |
| Son they frustrate me, 'cuz these niggas pump with no heat | |
| They play the night time sweet, like they can't get beat | |
| I got their address, to where they rest and stash their shit | |
| Yo, i peeped it out how we can creep, yo yo yo | |
| These niggas stay sleep | |
| Makin sales, smokin out, and they all get ?geeked? | |
| Lets catch 'em zoning, brain under, high and headed home and | |
| When they least expect it, lets put the gat to his dome | |
| He stuck the key in the door, we ??? four four | |
| We pushed our way in, we wasnt playin | |
| Ready to spray 'em, tied him down to the a.m. | |
| Now we layin, for a beamer, and some bitch named fatima | |
| Chorus: prince ad | |
| Communicate for the cake, polly for weight outta state | |
| Down on digits on the isle with son we can't be late | |
| We got moves to make, flood the whole new york state | |
| Time to skate to other lands to put food on our plate | |
| Communicate for the cake, polly for weight outta state | |
| Down on digits on the isle with son we can't be late | |
| We got moves to make, flood the whole new york state | |
| Time to skate to other lands to put food on our plate | |
| Now we travel with the ?crills rock? | |
| P, noyd, onslaught on the hottest road with a car load'a shit | |
| Isolated on ya whip, on the south i-95, lightin off and more drive | |
| ?diggy with the seats sung? | |
| Half a pie in the trunk with the music blastin | |
| Clouds of smoke, yo this lifes no joke | |
| We from qb son, we ain't tryin to be broke | |
| We makin moves to where the money's at, get it up and bring it back | |
| New cats the boogie ot knew how to work it | |
| Get the money, couldn't keep it 'cuz they jerked it | |
| Bad habits, livin lavish, rockin front and cabbage | |
| Tyrin to follow the leader, but paul paid for peter | |
| The dirty south ain't the place to sign, son keep ya heat up | |
| I'm from ny, city slicker, beat'choo with the g quicker | |
| Business so well i'll have your towns clientelle | |
| Kyron but me on through the cell, my ot | |
| Get that brick money son, i'll meet you back in qb | |
| See we flee off, know how to gee off, know how to eat off | |
| Know how to make moves so we can keep the heat off | |
| See we prefer to skate, to get this food on our plate | |
| And keep our name low key on this new york state | |
| You know how ?rule? quiet is kept, lets get this money fool | |
| Chorus |
Similar Songs
YouTube Results (More on YouTube)