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Yeah, ya'll (uh-huh) I would like to make a little announcement (whooo) |
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Knowwhatimsayin'? We got Theodore in the building (ya'll get ready) |
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Straight up and down (yeah) First up to bat (enjoy your classic) |
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Introducing (yeah) the one and only (whooo) |
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The magnificent (you know who it is) |
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Trife Diesel, nigga (yeah, come on) yo |
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[Trife Da God] |
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Aiyo, I'm sort of like a water pipe, I'm ready to blow |
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In a pair of three-fourth quarter Nike's, the color of snow |
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Listen here, sun, duel with my goons'll run through ya |
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For a little bit of change and exchange for some buddha |
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Heat movers, and they barely speak like preschoolers |
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And they hug the block all day, with them C-Rulers |
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Young niggas, ready and willing to clack them thangs |
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Straight out the nest, they just learned how to flap they wings |
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Now, all you niggas better pause for a sec |
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Know your claws run eject, when Theodore's on the set |
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Trife Da God, but for now on, just call me the barber |
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Cuz my hands they go to work like Antonio Tarber |
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**** shakin', my word got the fiends vibratin' |
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I ain't playin' fair this year, niggas is violatin' |
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I'm about to spaz out and start passin' out citations |
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Cuz niggas left the hood for good, now they high maintenance |
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You ain't gotta know the name of my band, but this flame in my hand'll |
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Put a quick somethin', change through your plans |
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Snatch you off stage, while you entertainin' the fans |
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And I don't show favoritism, do the same to your man, what |
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[Chorus x2: Trife Da God] |
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These niggas frontin' on wax |
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Don't make me push your shit back |
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In the hoods, ya'll don't pump like that |
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You'll get your shit pushed right back |
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[Kryme Life] |
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You know the kid got his weight up, now I'm tippin' the scale |
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I gotta eat, and my appetite is large as a whale |
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Got little niggas talkin' big shit, knowin' they frail |
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**** the rest, we the most, fresh niggas and steal |
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And I'm about to ring a lot of your bells, I'm at your doorstep |
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Grippin' the iron, bullets flyin' outta them shells |
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You think I'm lion, then ya'll niggas is gazelles |
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And I talkin' bout glasses, son, I'm on your asses |
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Put a hole in the back of your neck, right where your tag is |
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Slabs is like luggage, look how heavy my bags is |
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The ave, I'mma flood it, it's my time to cash in |
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Money good for the gettin', targets good for the hittin' |
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Blaow, me and Trife in the kitchen, cuttin' the mixing style |
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And no compares, to nothing, that ain't offici-al |
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Kryme, I got my stamp on it, got you amped on it |
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And I know what's gonna go, soon as I put my hands on it |
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None of ya'll mans want it, whether we on the corners |
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Or performin', battlin' with mics or straight warrin' |
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[Outro: Solomon Childs] |
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Whoooo... ahhh.. S. Child, Theodore Unit |
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The movie, you mutha****a |
