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10 years... |
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Yo the sun don't shine forever |
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but as long as its here then we might |
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as well shine togeher |
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Better now than never business before pleasure |
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P-Diddy and the Fam, |
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who you know do it better? |
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Yeah right, no matter what, |
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we air tight |
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So when you hear somethin, |
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make sure you hear it right |
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Don't make a ass outta yourself, |
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by assumin |
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My music keeps you movin, |
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what are you provin? |
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You know that I'm two levels above you baby |
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Hug me baby, I'ma make you love me baby |
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It's ten years and we still runnin this mother*****er |
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Yeah! |
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One |
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As we procede to give you what you need! |
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One...Two! |
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It's all *****ed up now! |
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Yo! |
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What the ***** yaw gonna do now? |
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Yo, we can't stay alive forever |
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So if shit hit the fan then we might |
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as well die together |
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I'm high as ever, more hoes |
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and more cheddar |
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G-Unit move around wit them pounds |
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and berreta's |
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Yea faggot, |
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if I want it I'm gon' have it |
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Regardless if it's handed to me or I gotta grab it |
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Don't make a ass outta yaself tryin to stop me |
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I'm *****y, raps rocky, |
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nigga you sloppy |
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You know that I'm, |
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8 levels above you nigga |
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I'll club you nigga, |
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I never heard of you nigga, ugly nigga |
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I'm the wrong one to provoke |
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And rattin on niggas is only gon' leave you smoke |
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So the only thing left now is toast for these cowrads |
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I got no friends, ***** most of these cowards |
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They pop shit 'till we start approaching these cowards |
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While we lay around dollars, |
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they lay around flowers |
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In The Commision, |
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you ask for permission to hit em |
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He don't like me, |
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him and wild wifey was wit em |
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You heard of us, |
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the murderers, most shady |
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Been on the low lately, |
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the feds hate me |
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The son of Satan, |
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they say my killin's too blatant |
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You hesitatin, |
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I'm in your mama crib waitin |
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Duct tapin, your fam destiny |
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Lays in my hands, |
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gat lays in my waist |
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Francis, M to the iz-H phenominal |
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Gun rest under your vest by the abdominal |
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Rhyme a few bars |
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so I can buy a few cars |
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And I kick a few flows |
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so I can pimp a few hoes |
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Excellence is my presence, |
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never tense |
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Never hesitant, |
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leave a nigga bent real quick |
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Real sick, brawl nights, |
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I perform like Mike |
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Anyone -- Tyson, Jordan, Jackson |
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Action, pack guns, ridiculous |
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And I'm, quick to bust, |
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if my ends you touch |
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Kids or girl you touch, |
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in this world I clutch |
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Two auto-matoes, |
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used to call me fatso |
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Now you call me Castro, |
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my rap flows |
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Militant, y'all faggots ain't killin shit |
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Ooops Cristal keep spillin shit, |
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you overdid it homes |
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You in the danger zone, |
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you shouldn't be alone |
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Hold hands and say it like me |
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The most shady, Frankie baby, fantastic |
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Graphic, tryin to make dough, like Jurassic |
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Park did quick to spark kids who start shit |
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See me, only me |
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The Underboss of this holocaust |
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Truly yours, Frank White |
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We got the real live shit from front to back |
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To my niggas in the world, |
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where the ***** you at? |
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Where my niggas is at? |
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Where the ***** my *****es at? |
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Where my *****es is at? |
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You know it can't stay dark for long |
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They say its darkest before the dawn |
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Cars before the storm |
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I'm happy makes a bethus now preaching the song |
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I can see B.I. rocking the Sean John yeah right |
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This is for life afters like B.I. Frank White |
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Yo Bad Boy for life |
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No matter what the public say we gon prove |
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There aint another MC who could feel ya shoes |
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Cuz Biggie Smalls is the illest |
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Realest my stones and killas got homes and villas |
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Overseas and what was me I find out |
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Who found out other MCs been tryin to find ya route |
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This illman MC used to be on other shit |
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Took home "Life after Death" and they studied it |
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Listened to the double disk |
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Now they all spit like they all legit |
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Frank tell how we did! |
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We got the shit, Mac tight, |
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brass knuckles and flashlights |
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The heaters in the two-seaters, |
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with two midas |
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Senoritas, kiss rings when you meet us |
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P-Diddy run the city, show no pity |
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I'm the witty one, |
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Frank's the crook from the Brook' |
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Matty broke the neck of your coke connect |
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No respect squeeze off til all y'all diminish |
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Shootouts for twenty minutes, |
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until we finish |
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Venice took the loot, escaped, |
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in the Coupe |
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Break bread, with the kiss, Peniro, |
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sheek loops |
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Black Rob joined the mob, |
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it ain't no replacin him |
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Niggaz step up, |
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we just macin them |
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Placin them in funerals, |
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criminals turned aroused |
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The Brick City, |
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nobody come off like P-Diddy |
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Businesswise, I play men |
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Hide money on the Island Cayman, |
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y'all just betray men |
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You screamin, I position, competition |
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Nother day in the life of the Comission |
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I got a intergangstress who argue and steams wit reefer |
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And who flip when I call a ***** like she Queen Latifah |
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Not all the vehicle's is long enough to stash the streetsweeper |
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This shit can get uglier than the Master P sneaker |
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We slidin through the ruckus, |
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wit prada on the chuckus |
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Soon as spring break ho's home from college wanna ***** us |
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I ain't here to drop knowledge on you suckas |
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I'll sick rottweiler's on you *****as, |
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cops followin to cuff us |
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Top dollars to discuss this, whole lotta zeros |
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When it comes to paper I blow a soul outta aero |
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I'ma break before I lay floor burried |
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Besides, every rapper ain't a star, |
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nigga plad ain't burberry |
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You can't tame Lloyd, smokin by the big screen |
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You changin the channel looks like I'm playin the game boy |
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I know to watch botherin ya vision |
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You reach and I'll put a dot on ya head like its part of yo religion |
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Why party wit a pigeon? |
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I'm blowin a 10 cuz Bush handin flyers for a party in a prison |
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I'm in the gucci vest wit the green and red straps |
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I'm the last rapper to scare niggas since Craig Mack |
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Now every morning's a fast start |
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And there aint problem gettin dressed cuz my closet got more aisles than pathmark |
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Run, when we startin a wave |
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And leave wit 12 shells in ya mouth like a carton of eggs |
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I'm the young pimp pardon my age |
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I don't got long hair but if I did she be partin my braids |
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Niggas find what club they at |
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Take 'em wit us, and run a train on 'em like a subway mac |
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Get advances from grey Acura |
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See these record labels got most artists gettin *****ed like the gay rappa' |
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I go the college on the tour |
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I'm goin down in history nigga, |
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next to Wallace and Shakur |
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I keep ya ammo clean, |
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text polished in the drawer |
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Camera's by the hamper that mine into the floor |
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By now, you probably heard of me |
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Fresh outta surgery, |
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flashy as a *****, you gon' have to murder me |
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Burglary, I'm leavin wit cha nike's bergendy, White T, bergendy |
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You match now, back down |
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Niggas love to hate you, |
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but love you when you disappear |
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Catch me on the boat wit weed smoke and fishing gear |
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Heavy when I toke, |
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C notes from different years |
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Besly in the robe, re-motes for liftin chairs |
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You ain't rich, but we glad to snatch ya |
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I send cars to crib like I'm a cab dispatcha |
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You better off wit ya stupid guys, |
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lookin for a coupe to drive |
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You ain't gettin nuttin but ya french fries supersized |
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It's a damn shame y'all still local |
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I'm in a million dollar studio layin my vocals |
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Nigga |
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>We got the real live shit from front to back |
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To my niggas in the world, where the ***** you at? |
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Where my niggas is at? |
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Where the ***** my *****es at? |
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Where my *****es is at? |
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Who got the real live shit! |
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***** yaw niggas wanna do? |
