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Yo, yo, yo .. |
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Chorus: [Diamond D] |
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We love the foundation, time to lock shit |
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Ladies look no more we got this |
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D.I.T.C. spits the hot shit |
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And while you busy poppin' shit we're poppin' Cris |
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Ain't no stoppin' this like, ? |
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See it's all laced out wearing rocks and shit |
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On the set niggas start to cockglocking shit |
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Hating when we come through ya metropolis |
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[Dimaond D] |
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I like the finer things in life, rings and bikes |
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Expensive whips, first-class trips |
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Seven days cruises, honey don't trip |
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Excel class if ya heard room fit |
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Platinum cars, givin' no credit to me |
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Tiffany labs, ? |
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H-class minerals with no floors in it |
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Be one two, with the windows all tinnit |
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And I be all in it, for Tommy Hil' send it |
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Everything is paid for, mami not rent it |
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Two albums deep, it's all documented |
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Y'all little monkeys gon' see in a minute |
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Look, G-O-L-D in a minute |
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'Bout to double that, in the Benz bubble black, hata ! |
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It's Di-a-mond D on ya set |
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Throwin' all G's and charge a jet |
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[O.C.] |
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I'm doin' time in the rap game |
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Sorta like a beered up North all one and the same |
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My slang keep comin' steady num in ya brain |
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Like substers abusin' lies for cocaine |
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I get ya open, my stuff be pokin' |
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Two pulls a past for three niggaz smoking |
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It's no joking when it comes to this |
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On occasion I might pop a bottle of Cris' |
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With a wrist full of ice on the bracelet |
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Trade rhymes in for cash, money I stash |
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For the future, treat more wis' than Peter Luger |
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For lyrical fitness I train with ?Luke Luva? |
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Incorporate lyrical bust with fist to custwit style for a million bucks |
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For this I got love, not lust |
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If I lay her down with no fear than it means I wanna fuck! |
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[CHORUS] |
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[A.G.] |
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My flow, be sicker than yours |
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Hoes, bounce gimme some mo' |
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Wanna rap with me? Then gimme some dough |
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Wanna track from me? Then gimme some dough |
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I sport those type of flows that excite the hoes |
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That's my ice that roll and light the dro' |
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Love is love, y'all niggas gettin' sheisht with yours |
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Diamond beats hittin' harder than Tyson blows |
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I might explode, once I grab the mic and blow |
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Claim you don't like the flow, when you want to bite the flow |
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Pop bubbly, catch me in the club playin' Bugsy |
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Get Dirty like ?, it could get ugly |
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I rock mines and cop top of the line cars |
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Then charge you twentie-thou', only drop nine bars |
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Slight the tight men, cop about nine jars |
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To trig or tone come home while we rap when you behind bars |
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[Lord Finesse] |
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Niggas is finito, when my and my peeps blow |
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Name it the game, stack dough and keep blow, fo' sho |
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We straight, better see yaselfves |
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We seein' more chips than the ? |
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On a club night we hillin', watching the thugs fight |
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Iced out, nigga shining like flug-lights |
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Rolling with grimy niggas, dirty like mud-fights |
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Throwing it up, while you sipping on Bud-Light |
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Steady balling, why you stop the thing |
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Blind you with rocks and links, make ya drop ya drink |
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On some slick shit, dress-up dip shit |
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Floors with rocks and stones you don't mind getting hit with |
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Don't sleep, me and my crew's deep |
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Whether in the air, on four wheels or two feet |
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Salute the new chiefs and the feel we stay thirst |
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Fuck freestylin; nowadays you pay first |
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[CHORUS] |
