Dipset Symphony Lyrics
| Song | Dipset Symphony |
| Artist | The Diplomats |
| Album | More Than Music, Vol. 1 |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Isbell, Jones, Redding | |
| (feat. Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal & Unkasa) | |
| Intro | |
| I dont care what yall say, what yall do, but yall better rep harlem until the goddamn music is through. Mr C. lets do it | |
| (Juelz Santana) | |
| All eyes on the honorable (who) | |
| Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbeque | |
| (?) All my niggaz ride like a carnival | |
| Heat drawn all you niggaz lie like carpet do | |
| Get up and get ready, what up the kids ready | |
| Now that Im back the game is fucked the bitch let me | |
| You front, u stunt, You get heat clown | |
| Yeah punks jump up to get beat down | |
| (Jim Jones) | |
| Now eight years ago, I played the bench wit dimes | |
| Everybody on my corner is gettin bent off dimes | |
| Sittin back, sippin yak tryna get us some sneakers | |
| Sittin back in the Lac puffin nickels of reefer | |
| (?) on the strip in the midst of the drug trade | |
| (?) Im watchin for (?) in midst of the drug raid | |
| But niggaz gotta eat its like my stomach is touchin back | |
| New York rider for u suckerz that fuckin asked | |
| (Hell Rell) | |
| Now can I kick it yes I can | |
| They wanna know if Im G'd up, Yes i am | |
| Look Ive overpaid my dues | |
| I almost made the news | |
| Block kind of hot but the cocaine gon move | |
| If I was a brick u wouldnt know what to do wit me | |
| You'd probably pick me up get a stem and start using me | |
| Nobody built me, I made myself | |
| And you dont know how to shoot guns you grazed yourself | |
| (J.R. Writer) | |
| I was a fiend | |
| Before I became a teen | |
| I was dreams tossed for the latest beams (urrh) | |
| Made me cream cuz Aye | |
| They kept the powder in the tray way before it was Maybelene | |
| Im in to major stacks, Major stats, Hate on that | |
| Cam holla'd cuz imma bring his label plaques | |
| That aint made of plaque WHOA | |
| Your jewlry aint gold, You copped your jewlry from Hov They all fade to black | |
| (Un Kasa) | |
| I keep a nine in my dresser | |
| Lyrical proffessor | |
| Keep u under pressure | |
| Aint a nigga better | |
| Mind like a computer Six rugers | |
| Get your fam go to war with six shooters | |
| I fuck bitches in coupes they straight Hooters | |
| Get head and thank Buda | |
| (?) and sip Lua | |
| I go hard you runnin with State Troopers | |
| My niggaz straight shotters, Cock back and straight shootCha | |
| (Mr C.) | |
| Not in my book never that nigga, I told yall niggas to go till the fuckin Beat stopped. When (?) I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, J.R. Writer, Un Kasa, |
| zuo qu : Isbell, Jones, Redding | |
| feat. Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal Unkasa | |
| Intro | |
| I dont care what yall say, what yall do, but yall better rep harlem until the goddamn music is through. Mr C. lets do it | |
| Juelz Santana | |
| All eyes on the honorable who | |
| Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbeque | |
| ? All my niggaz ride like a carnival | |
| Heat drawn all you niggaz lie like carpet do | |
| Get up and get ready, what up the kids ready | |
| Now that Im back the game is fucked the bitch let me | |
| You front, u stunt, You get heat clown | |
| Yeah punks jump up to get beat down | |
| Jim Jones | |
| Now eight years ago, I played the bench wit dimes | |
| Everybody on my corner is gettin bent off dimes | |
| Sittin back, sippin yak tryna get us some sneakers | |
| Sittin back in the Lac puffin nickels of reefer | |
| ? on the strip in the midst of the drug trade | |
| ? Im watchin for ? in midst of the drug raid | |
| But niggaz gotta eat its like my stomach is touchin back | |
| New York rider for u suckerz that fuckin asked | |
| Hell Rell | |
| Now can I kick it yes I can | |
| They wanna know if Im G' d up, Yes i am | |
| Look Ive overpaid my dues | |
| I almost made the news | |
| Block kind of hot but the cocaine gon move | |
| If I was a brick u wouldnt know what to do wit me | |
| You' d probably pick me up get a stem and start using me | |
| Nobody built me, I made myself | |
| And you dont know how to shoot guns you grazed yourself | |
| J. R. Writer | |
| I was a fiend | |
| Before I became a teen | |
| I was dreams tossed for the latest beams urrh | |
| Made me cream cuz Aye | |
| They kept the powder in the tray way before it was Maybelene | |
| Im in to major stacks, Major stats, Hate on that | |
| Cam holla' d cuz imma bring his label plaques | |
| That aint made of plaque WHOA | |
| Your jewlry aint gold, You copped your jewlry from Hov They all fade to black | |
| Un Kasa | |
| I keep a nine in my dresser | |
| Lyrical proffessor | |
| Keep u under pressure | |
| Aint a nigga better | |
| Mind like a computer Six rugers | |
| Get your fam go to war with six shooters | |
| I fuck bitches in coupes they straight Hooters | |
| Get head and thank Buda | |
| ? and sip Lua | |
| I go hard you runnin with State Troopers | |
| My niggaz straight shotters, Cock back and straight shootCha | |
| Mr C. | |
| Not in my book never that nigga, I told yall niggas to go till the fuckin Beat stopped. When ? I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, J. R. Writer, Un Kasa, |
| zuò qǔ : Isbell, Jones, Redding | |
| feat. Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal Unkasa | |
| Intro | |
| I dont care what yall say, what yall do, but yall better rep harlem until the goddamn music is through. Mr C. lets do it | |
| Juelz Santana | |
| All eyes on the honorable who | |
| Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbeque | |
| ? All my niggaz ride like a carnival | |
| Heat drawn all you niggaz lie like carpet do | |
| Get up and get ready, what up the kids ready | |
| Now that Im back the game is fucked the bitch let me | |
| You front, u stunt, You get heat clown | |
| Yeah punks jump up to get beat down | |
| Jim Jones | |
| Now eight years ago, I played the bench wit dimes | |
| Everybody on my corner is gettin bent off dimes | |
| Sittin back, sippin yak tryna get us some sneakers | |
| Sittin back in the Lac puffin nickels of reefer | |
| ? on the strip in the midst of the drug trade | |
| ? Im watchin for ? in midst of the drug raid | |
| But niggaz gotta eat its like my stomach is touchin back | |
| New York rider for u suckerz that fuckin asked | |
| Hell Rell | |
| Now can I kick it yes I can | |
| They wanna know if Im G' d up, Yes i am | |
| Look Ive overpaid my dues | |
| I almost made the news | |
| Block kind of hot but the cocaine gon move | |
| If I was a brick u wouldnt know what to do wit me | |
| You' d probably pick me up get a stem and start using me | |
| Nobody built me, I made myself | |
| And you dont know how to shoot guns you grazed yourself | |
| J. R. Writer | |
| I was a fiend | |
| Before I became a teen | |
| I was dreams tossed for the latest beams urrh | |
| Made me cream cuz Aye | |
| They kept the powder in the tray way before it was Maybelene | |
| Im in to major stacks, Major stats, Hate on that | |
| Cam holla' d cuz imma bring his label plaques | |
| That aint made of plaque WHOA | |
| Your jewlry aint gold, You copped your jewlry from Hov They all fade to black | |
| Un Kasa | |
| I keep a nine in my dresser | |
| Lyrical proffessor | |
| Keep u under pressure | |
| Aint a nigga better | |
| Mind like a computer Six rugers | |
| Get your fam go to war with six shooters | |
| I fuck bitches in coupes they straight Hooters | |
| Get head and thank Buda | |
| ? and sip Lua | |
| I go hard you runnin with State Troopers | |
| My niggaz straight shotters, Cock back and straight shootCha | |
| Mr C. | |
| Not in my book never that nigga, I told yall niggas to go till the fuckin Beat stopped. When ? I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, J. R. Writer, Un Kasa, |
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