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featuring Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre |
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[Chorus-Joe Hooker] |
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You have never seen my face before |
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You don't know me |
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Oh, no |
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You will never see my face again |
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You don't know me |
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Oh, no |
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[Black Rob] |
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You've never seen the gloves of an Uptown thug |
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You say I move drugs, cuz my shit is unplugged |
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Everywhere I go, results hound our love |
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Black unbless them like the heavens up above |
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Catch me in the new wave carriage with Sinbad and Etro |
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The nigga is growin' H20 |
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Got beef so I'm taking it slow, making it grow |
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Right now my main concern is making it blow |
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Guns and ammo, man, yo, you gots to understand, yo |
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I'm not the one that hit them with the banjo |
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Here y'all is, bringing my fingerprints |
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Up in them camaras and shit like I was ?? |
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Ask her if she seen my face |
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Look- I was out of town getting cake with Moore and Little Jacob |
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Wasn't even out here in New York State |
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Trying to play me like a goat, like my name was Scape |
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Now you mad, son |
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Repeat 1 |
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Caught a nigga sleepin' outside creepin' |
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We out to Mexico, fourth one filled weekend |
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At least I thought I was, they had the whole place strung |
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Still thinkin' I sold drugs, ice 'em up |
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Kick the door in, I find Satan |
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From up top, bullets soaring, but I fake 'em |
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I'm hard to hit, Spanish speaking chick that constantly |
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And Mafia connections, chopping niggas, it's hard to get |
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Hit me with the 411, and the gun |
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And the nigga hit me low, transfered funds from Big Pun |
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Conversation, job well done |
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**** this lifestyle now, shit, y'all do it all for fun |
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Rippin' the frames, got at least 20 different names |
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Know at least 20 different games with different lames |
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Not to mention liftin' Lane's credit cards and passports |
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Slangs and flat on ass coffins, still |
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Y'all don't know |
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[Chorus] |
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[Chorus] |
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I'm in the cell now, it's hell now, all stuffy |
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Seven numbers, told Harve to call Puffy |
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Say they got his man locked down in six-ten |
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Gotta get him out, not now but right now |
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Catch him when they shift him when they open the yard |
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Hurry up, before these six rounds smokin' the guard |
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On the humble, I'ma just wait for y'all to come through |
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Creat a diversion for me, I start a rumble |
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Holdin' me, they ain't even take my flicks |
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Got on Simmy's, they ain't even take my shit |
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Got my jewels, lend 'em right, them a be fools |
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On the sneak out, the peek out, had two left shoes |
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I'ma freak 'em, through the front gate, on administrations |
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Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin' |
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Straight up out a crystal face, like I'm Jason |
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Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin' |
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You late |
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[Chorus to end] |
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You will never see my face again |
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You don't know me |
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I told y'all it my time to shine |
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July 19, 1999 |
