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(feat. Get Low, JT) |
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(JT) |
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We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy |
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You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin |
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On the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like niggaz doin dope deals |
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Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half |
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I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay |
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My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it |
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Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted |
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Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge |
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We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again |
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We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a bitch |
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I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops |
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It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground |
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Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin |
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JT, another boss from the Bay |
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And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say nigga? |
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JT, another boss from the Bay |
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And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker |
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(Nina B) |
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Hey yo it seem to me like e'rybody got they own truth |
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Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths |
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I play the game I was born to score |
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But I'm a lil' too cute for them corner stores |
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A little too, known, to stand on the block |
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And a lil' too eager to sit in the spot |
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Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side |
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Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide |
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Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside |
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Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride |
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And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin |
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This lump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion |
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I slash ya face and fracture you flashin in the latest fashion |
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And have you dashin from Manhattan all the way to Aspen |
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Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin |
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Step ya game up |
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(instrumental break) |
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(unknown Get Low male) |
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Listen, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Lord for strength |
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Tryin to get my niggaz out the hood, you know how the forces get |
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It's like the devil got a hold of my neck |
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And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set |
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Momma used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed |
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Must be out there gettin some money |
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But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go |
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For them birds niggaz'll cock back the calico |
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Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now? |
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Bitch up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out? |
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A lot of niggaz is real, a lot of niggaz is fake |
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A lot of niggaz shake your hand and shake hands with Jake |
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(another Get Low male) |
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Fuck what'chu heard, I startled your brain |
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I hit the spot like a {?} in ballers and jeans |
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On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane |
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It's not my fault she looked at me - you better talk to your dame |
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That's just, part of the game and you got served |
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Who got nerve cause Lethal hard like Tupac words |
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And, why y'all Chucks always actin like tough guys |
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You must be trippin or you slippin on mudslides |
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And in the hood you see it's different from one time |
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What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine |
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And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath |
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I oughta be like Makaveli and be fakin my death |
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I keep that good shit it's tastin so fresh |
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And all y'all sloppy Joe niggaz yo y'all makin a mess |
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We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck |
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And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat |
