Young G's Lyrics
| Song | Young G's |
| Artist | Diddy |
| Album | No Way Out |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Carter, Combs, Gaither ... | |
| Intro: Biggie | |
| Uhh, check it out, uhh | |
| *singing* I steps in where the Mo's and the hoes at bay-bee! | |
| ************* all that pretty *************t | |
| Takin it back to the gutter for you mother*******s | |
| *************z know the deal | |
| *************z know who the Don is | |
| Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one | |
| Peep game, uhh, what, what | |
| Verse One: Puff Daddy | |
| Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars | |
| Come ************* with these stars up in luxury cars | |
| We built them radars to stay free from the cops | |
| Crucial choices to make, like A-C or the drop | |
| Are we gonna stop? *************t man never my squad go broke | |
| Your squad arti-choke | |
| Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke | |
| Ain't no joke, when your ones don't show | |
| ************* I know, might say 'Been There Done That' like Dre | |
| Through hard work I earn the vault | |
| Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt | |
| Got nice watches nice cars nice ******* and rings | |
| Guess it's safe to say a ************* like me got nice things | |
| Can't relate to mother*******s, who ain't go no cake | |
| When you all ****** up, and can't get no break | |
| When your fake ass friends, don't help you out when you need it | |
| Be on some real bull*************t, politely tell you to beat it | |
| ************* that, get your own *************, don't ask me for *************t | |
| That's what I did, now they all askin for hits | |
| ************* it's on for the simple fact I let it be known | |
| We still fly but seperately cause now I, charter my own | |
| Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous | |
| Billboard charts should tell us, they can't touch us | |
| Why *************z bring the ruckus? | |
| Because release day is bigger than Mandela's, mother*******s | |
| Chorus: | |
| Just some ghetto boys | |
| Living in these ghetto streets | |
| -- these ghetto streets | |
| And everyday they gotta | |
| fight to stay alive | |
| It's just reality | |
| Verse Two: Jay-Z | |
| Yeah, make you a deal, check | |
| These here's the dog years and mother*******s don't shed | |
| I try to bring you life but mother*******s want dead | |
| So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead | |
| Cause when it's on, then it's on, the shots flowin through your head | |
| I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread | |
| Some say I been here before because of the way I zone | |
| Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin of Rome | |
| Reoccuring, that he thinks like that cause he's observing | |
| Won't be known until I'm gone and *************z study my bones | |
| Mentally been many places, but I'm Brooklyn's own | |
| In the physical, onee seems, like a lost body | |
| In fact my thoughts don't differ much from that of God body | |
| But it's the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me | |
| to the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin me cause | |
| I got it locked like the late Bob Marley | |
| Pardon me y'all, the great Bob Marley | |
| Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that's gone | |
| *************z that got killed in the field and all the babies born | |
| Know they ain't fully prepared for this New World Order | |
| So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters | |
| You walk em through it, you know, talk em through it | |
| Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it | |
| Destined for greatness and y'all knew this, when I doubled the pie | |
| Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of B-W-I (in school) | |
| I hated algebra but I loved to multiply | |
| And I told my ************* Big I'd be multi before I die | |
| It's gonna happen whether rappin or clappin have it your way | |
| Cause if that's my dough you're trappin, I'm clappin your way | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse Three: Notorious B.I.G. | |
| Damn it feel good to see people up on it | |
| Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn't flaunt it | |
| My brain is haunted, with mean dreams | |
| GS's with BB's on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer | |
| than Richie, quickly, *************z wanna hit me | |
| If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it | |
| My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat | |
| High caliber gats is all I ************* with, now peep the rough *************t | |
| in my circumfrence, mad *******, with mad lucci | |
| Bulletproof vestes under they coochie | |
| Spittin my uzi, don't lose me, my trigga *************z represent | |
| Drivin dirty in J-30's gettin bent | |
| And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies | |
| I be smokin trees in Belize when they find me | |
| While you still killin *************z with punany, like heiny | |
| and Cyrus up in Cypress ************* you raw you on the floor with the virus | |
| While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke | |
| Got lawyers watchin lawyers so I won't go broke, now check it | |
| Them country *************z call me Frank White | |
| I'm squirtin off in my loft of course I know my *************t's tight | |
| Sunrise open my eyes no surprise | |
| Got my shorty flyin in with keys taped to her thighs | |
| With all the utensils, who hang my china thing | |
| She half black half oriental eighty-six she got me rental | |
| The situation ain't accidental.. | |
| What? From a, from a young G's perspective.. (repeat 2X) | |
| Chorus 2X to fade |
| zuo ci : Carter, Combs, Gaither ... | |
| Intro: Biggie | |
| Uhh, check it out, uhh | |
| singing I steps in where the Mo' s and the hoes at baybee! | |
| all that pretty t | |
| Takin it back to the gutter for you mother s | |
| z know the deal | |
| z know who the Don is | |
| Live from BedfordStuyvesant, the livest one | |
| Peep game, uhh, what, what | |
| Verse One: Puff Daddy | |
| Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars | |
| Come with these stars up in luxury cars | |
| We built them radars to stay free from the cops | |
| Crucial choices to make, like AC or the drop | |
| Are we gonna stop? t man never my squad go broke | |
| Your squad artichoke | |
| Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke | |
| Ain' t no joke, when your ones don' t show | |
| I know, might say ' Been There Done That' like Dre | |
| Through hard work I earn the vault | |
| Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt | |
| Got nice watches nice cars nice and rings | |
| Guess it' s safe to say a like me got nice things | |
| Can' t relate to mother s, who ain' t go no cake | |
| When you all up, and can' t get no break | |
| When your fake ass friends, don' t help you out when you need it | |
| Be on some real bull t, politely tell you to beat it | |
| that, get your own , don' t ask me for t | |
| That' s what I did, now they all askin for hits | |
| it' s on for the simple fact I let it be known | |
| We still fly but seperately cause now I, charter my own | |
| Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous | |
| Billboard charts should tell us, they can' t touch us | |
| Why z bring the ruckus? | |
| Because release day is bigger than Mandela' s, mother s | |
| Chorus: | |
| Just some ghetto boys | |
| Living in these ghetto streets | |
| these ghetto streets | |
| And everyday they gotta | |
| fight to stay alive | |
| It' s just reality | |
| Verse Two: JayZ | |
| Yeah, make you a deal, check | |
| These here' s the dog years and mother s don' t shed | |
| I try to bring you life but mother s want dead | |
| So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead | |
| Cause when it' s on, then it' s on, the shots flowin through your head | |
| I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread | |
| Some say I been here before because of the way I zone | |
| Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin of Rome | |
| Reoccuring, that he thinks like that cause he' s observing | |
| Won' t be known until I' m gone and z study my bones | |
| Mentally been many places, but I' m Brooklyn' s own | |
| In the physical, onee seems, like a lost body | |
| In fact my thoughts don' t differ much from that of God body | |
| But it' s the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me | |
| to the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin me cause | |
| I got it locked like the late Bob Marley | |
| Pardon me y' all, the great Bob Marley | |
| Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that' s gone | |
| z that got killed in the field and all the babies born | |
| Know they ain' t fully prepared for this New World Order | |
| So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters | |
| You walk em through it, you know, talk em through it | |
| Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it | |
| Destined for greatness and y' all knew this, when I doubled the pie | |
| Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of BWI in school | |
| I hated algebra but I loved to multiply | |
| And I told my Big I' d be multi before I die | |
| It' s gonna happen whether rappin or clappin have it your way | |
| Cause if that' s my dough you' re trappin, I' m clappin your way | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse Three: Notorious B. I. G. | |
| Damn it feel good to see people up on it | |
| Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn' t flaunt it | |
| My brain is haunted, with mean dreams | |
| GS' s with BB' s on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer | |
| than Richie, quickly, z wanna hit me | |
| If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it | |
| My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat | |
| High caliber gats is all I with, now peep the rough t | |
| in my circumfrence, mad , with mad lucci | |
| Bulletproof vestes under they coochie | |
| Spittin my uzi, don' t lose me, my trigga z represent | |
| Drivin dirty in J30' s gettin bent | |
| And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies | |
| I be smokin trees in Belize when they find me | |
| While you still killin z with punany, like heiny | |
| and Cyrus up in Cypress you raw you on the floor with the virus | |
| While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke | |
| Got lawyers watchin lawyers so I won' t go broke, now check it | |
| Them country z call me Frank White | |
| I' m squirtin off in my loft of course I know my t' s tight | |
| Sunrise open my eyes no surprise | |
| Got my shorty flyin in with keys taped to her thighs | |
| With all the utensils, who hang my china thing | |
| She half black half oriental eightysix she got me rental | |
| The situation ain' t accidental.. | |
| What? From a, from a young G' s perspective.. repeat 2X | |
| Chorus 2X to fade |
| zuò cí : Carter, Combs, Gaither ... | |
| Intro: Biggie | |
| Uhh, check it out, uhh | |
| singing I steps in where the Mo' s and the hoes at baybee! | |
| all that pretty t | |
| Takin it back to the gutter for you mother s | |
| z know the deal | |
| z know who the Don is | |
| Live from BedfordStuyvesant, the livest one | |
| Peep game, uhh, what, what | |
| Verse One: Puff Daddy | |
| Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars | |
| Come with these stars up in luxury cars | |
| We built them radars to stay free from the cops | |
| Crucial choices to make, like AC or the drop | |
| Are we gonna stop? t man never my squad go broke | |
| Your squad artichoke | |
| Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke | |
| Ain' t no joke, when your ones don' t show | |
| I know, might say ' Been There Done That' like Dre | |
| Through hard work I earn the vault | |
| Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt | |
| Got nice watches nice cars nice and rings | |
| Guess it' s safe to say a like me got nice things | |
| Can' t relate to mother s, who ain' t go no cake | |
| When you all up, and can' t get no break | |
| When your fake ass friends, don' t help you out when you need it | |
| Be on some real bull t, politely tell you to beat it | |
| that, get your own , don' t ask me for t | |
| That' s what I did, now they all askin for hits | |
| it' s on for the simple fact I let it be known | |
| We still fly but seperately cause now I, charter my own | |
| Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous | |
| Billboard charts should tell us, they can' t touch us | |
| Why z bring the ruckus? | |
| Because release day is bigger than Mandela' s, mother s | |
| Chorus: | |
| Just some ghetto boys | |
| Living in these ghetto streets | |
| these ghetto streets | |
| And everyday they gotta | |
| fight to stay alive | |
| It' s just reality | |
| Verse Two: JayZ | |
| Yeah, make you a deal, check | |
| These here' s the dog years and mother s don' t shed | |
| I try to bring you life but mother s want dead | |
| So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead | |
| Cause when it' s on, then it' s on, the shots flowin through your head | |
| I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread | |
| Some say I been here before because of the way I zone | |
| Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin of Rome | |
| Reoccuring, that he thinks like that cause he' s observing | |
| Won' t be known until I' m gone and z study my bones | |
| Mentally been many places, but I' m Brooklyn' s own | |
| In the physical, onee seems, like a lost body | |
| In fact my thoughts don' t differ much from that of God body | |
| But it' s the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me | |
| to the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin me cause | |
| I got it locked like the late Bob Marley | |
| Pardon me y' all, the great Bob Marley | |
| Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that' s gone | |
| z that got killed in the field and all the babies born | |
| Know they ain' t fully prepared for this New World Order | |
| So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters | |
| You walk em through it, you know, talk em through it | |
| Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it | |
| Destined for greatness and y' all knew this, when I doubled the pie | |
| Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of BWI in school | |
| I hated algebra but I loved to multiply | |
| And I told my Big I' d be multi before I die | |
| It' s gonna happen whether rappin or clappin have it your way | |
| Cause if that' s my dough you' re trappin, I' m clappin your way | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse Three: Notorious B. I. G. | |
| Damn it feel good to see people up on it | |
| Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn' t flaunt it | |
| My brain is haunted, with mean dreams | |
| GS' s with BB' s on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer | |
| than Richie, quickly, z wanna hit me | |
| If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it | |
| My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat | |
| High caliber gats is all I with, now peep the rough t | |
| in my circumfrence, mad , with mad lucci | |
| Bulletproof vestes under they coochie | |
| Spittin my uzi, don' t lose me, my trigga z represent | |
| Drivin dirty in J30' s gettin bent | |
| And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies | |
| I be smokin trees in Belize when they find me | |
| While you still killin z with punany, like heiny | |
| and Cyrus up in Cypress you raw you on the floor with the virus | |
| While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke | |
| Got lawyers watchin lawyers so I won' t go broke, now check it | |
| Them country z call me Frank White | |
| I' m squirtin off in my loft of course I know my t' s tight | |
| Sunrise open my eyes no surprise | |
| Got my shorty flyin in with keys taped to her thighs | |
| With all the utensils, who hang my china thing | |
| She half black half oriental eightysix she got me rental | |
| The situation ain' t accidental.. | |
| What? From a, from a young G' s perspective.. repeat 2X | |
| Chorus 2X to fade |
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