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(feat. Black Rob) |
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[Black Rob] |
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Aiyo I'm just lottin thru cuz I finished with that booty call |
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Green Acres more, lot and Queens had it all |
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Got the beat from my man Big Stan 50 Grand |
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Rhythem Blunt Cru, Black Rob in demand |
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[Chadeeo] |
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Mic check one, and the mic check two |
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Rhythem Blunt Cru runs thru you like the flu |
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Fuck ya whole shop up and inside |
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Leave ya jaw to the floor, eyes open wide |
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[Yogi] |
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Loungin in my crib upon, now in 12 floor |
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Lo-Lo wit the ham come knockin at my door |
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She sell glock shells by the sea shore |
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Payin for the guests on that big ass boat |
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[Black Rob] |
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Yo kids I'm takin no shorts, back and forth like a meter |
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Play it crazy, ballin see ya, park dark black Adidas |
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Art shines, cuz I'm double, Spanish honies say Roberto |
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Fuck that, I buck that bitch nigga from your borough |
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[Chadeeo] |
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Well lyrical gats, at the smalls of my back |
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In facts, I pack extras up in my napsacks |
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Greenbacks, let me layin back and relax |
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Gainin riches, bitches just by kickin the mere fact |
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[Yogi] |
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Nigga I can make ya speaker shake |
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Make ya break, now ya upstate gettin raped |
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While I'm home makin hits |
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That smokin so much weed that I start hearin shit |
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Interlude: Yogi (Chadeeo) |
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Aiyo, fuck is that shit yo (what?) |
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You hear that shit (what?) |
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Don't fuck with me, ya niggas hear that shit |
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Ya niggas fuck with (yo chill, man take it) |
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[Chorus x4: The Mighty Ha (Yogi)] |
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Rhythem Blunt Cru, knockin at the door |
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(Nothin but the rough, rugged & hardcore) |
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[Black Rob] |
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Jack call Yopes, so I stay to bring the metal |
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To my job on 34th, I got some beef with these devils |
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Automatic weapons, fuck askin niggas questions |
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Leave them torn, as the justice cypher born then we steppin |
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[Chadeeo] |
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All rise, parental discreation is advised |
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And be wise, cuz one who fronts is one who dies |
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Smoke buddah by the mic, just like a barracuda |
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Flush the Cru to the ground like Roto Rooter |
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[Yogi] |
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A fight, a fight, a nigga and a white |
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If a nigga don't win, we all jump in |
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Wanna be me, but you can't see me |
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Cuz I don't rap like Michael Jackson those little wee-wees |
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Uck it, bottom line, top of the page |
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Loves to fuck a big body bitch like Rage |
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Runnin thru uptown like I don't got no sense |
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And Frederick K. Price couldn't find no evidence |
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[Black Rob] |
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Yo I make the grade, now I'm crazy paid |
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Niggas watch me close like Muslims in the World Trade |
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Center, represent the click in the city |
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Blowin up the spot, like silicone titties |
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[Chadeeo] |
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Try to defeat beat, nigga ya dead wrong |
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Too head strong, and got a 38 leg long |
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So fuck around, lay around on the wet ground |
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By the tray pound, and these sick niggas from uptown |
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Let me clear my throat now |
