|
() |
|
Automatic systematic |
|
I used to know the live Bronx *****s |
|
Slippin' like acrobatics |
|
Systematic, torch your brother's stash |
|
Get elastic |
|
You torch yo hash tabs, relax, they ? |
|
That's drastic, auto smash, lemme clear my mind |
|
******* wasn't practic, it came in white lines |
|
Fools cross the dime, sticken was the crime |
|
Saturday Night Live Special, ? handled nines |
|
Now the upper bathers broke, like something to steer cage roots tops |
|
Gun shots, housing police, ain't got no drapes |
|
Sending patrols, they assault, but couldn't keep the blocks on hold |
|
Now these skelty kids is outta control |
|
?Please raise the boots, no gebolts?? |
|
1986, I flip, I'm yelling jumbos, jumbos |
|
Bad news, here comes the crack crews |
|
90 20$ bottle, tell *****s to black juice |
|
Rempin', ah yeah, pull the hat, lempin' |
|
Clampin', 50 oacks, *******, they be trampin' |
|
Chillin', ice and dice, with ? and nitrogen |
|
Kiddy down, no more more wheel cruises the town |
|
(Verse) |
|
Now while we in the jungle, claim the color, soften yo bundle |
|
And watch yo back, cause TNT come in a sudden |
|
And let some time blocks get hot |
|
What's the spots? Play and go scotch |
|
Snappin' pad-locks from candy stores, sellin' rocks |
|
Brand new pro'lems on the horizon. Frightening! |
|
Yeah, yo ? slow, at the projects, indic**ent |
|
Dominicans movin' in, water barbecue ******* |
|
Yeah, that's the link chains everybody's wearin' |
|
Probs bound, choo-choo's invest in mount Haven |
|
Territory, much respect, Boy George been blazin' |
|
Cincene of the block, flow bags is sticky |
|
Moliqua, power rule, mohale *****s like check it! |
|
(Verse) |
|
Now Harlem status apparatus |
|
They slick on Saint Nick |
|
Brothers is tryna see six figures status |
|
They keep havin' dreams of puttin' keys on beams |
|
Livin' life like Al Poke, that cat is supreme team |
|
Let's take a wild walk through Woodstock |
|
Columbians hide in pride, kilos will never die |
|
An eye for an eye, you might catch a neck tie |
|
Rastafarian sun blood cut you alive |
|
(Verse) |
|
Now Brooklyn's in the house, yo Style, roll up yo light, ***** |
|
Skunk has rounds to funk, beginners start in the trunk |
|
With eighteen pounds of lead thru, sellin' it to the people |
|
Now you gots to reload and re-up with yo main hoe |
|
City crime is the worst, yo baby here cop yo back |
|
Woman take ? in the purse |
|
Living in this cage, enraged up in the cage |
|
Can't be afraid, blame ? for ? |
|
You murder mutha*****as get a hand on the uppa |
|
Look for ya head, you wear the Tymbaland chackers |
|
No question, you lock down private sections |
|
Drug sales and Bronx tale, Watson Ave. connected |
|
Bluntes! The stash box, .45, bulletproof Lexus |
|
Coupe! ? Shawty's pumpin' on the stoop |
|
Extravagant, bump ******* gather how ya livin' |
|
***** them chicken heads, you want the grown women |
|
(Verse) |
|
Now it's a damn shame street games be a fake |
|
You be pu*******ng weight, dealin' nothin' less than a nathe |
|
Remember the last time, yo luci increase from a man |
|
TCM put you on the South East, south Waston (?) |
|
You start pickin' up them Jacksons |
|
Before the work finishes, you know that ? Hammiltons |
|
Good paper, down 9-5, doin' more 20 |
|
Than 350, no sleep, gettin' blunted |
|
*****, yo whole life is a fantasy |
|
Sippin' on some Hennessey |
|
Screamin' on this spot in Tennessee |
|
Get home, lay back, no doubt, it's time to zone |
|
Same *******, different *******, now which one's the wrong one? |
|
(Verse) |
|
Slow down for a second, yo, chill |
|
My man, Lockdown, that Clinton |
|
He just got triss with the fish skill |
|
Our brother sit down and write to God back a letter |
|
Fuddles and Comencery, hope the situation gets better |
|
Point blank, lieutenant pullin' rank |
|
It's all about the bank and that ass you can spank |
|
History here goes off for ever, whatever |
|
Street light, project here keep it tight, stay together |
|
Yeah |
|
(Outro) |
|
One more time |
|
Word |
|
This is a true story |
|
The Legion |
|
Yea yea yea |
|
All my *****s in NYC, this how I be |
|
WTF, WTF |
