*featuring Memphis Bleek, Young Chris & Freeway
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[Intro: Young Chris]
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Yeah...
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Young Chris, M-E's, Free-Wheez... Tha boy Twista...
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Holla...
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My life on tha track... (Okay...),
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Up and comin'... State Prop...
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Check game... (That's right...),
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Get low... (Get low...),
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It's tha Roc...
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Better than ever (Holla)...
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Yeah...
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It's tha motherfuckin' Roc bitch, you hotter than us?
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(Okay, okay)
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[Young Chris]
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Ever since a young buck, I been on tha come up,
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Known to dish tha raw, dish tha law if they come up,
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And cheddar 'till tha sun up...
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If there's a ransom and tha law get involved, then we never get it summed up,
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Never put ya gun up, if ya come round me,
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I go to war wit' niggas 'round tha corner from 'round me,
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You can front 'round me, but I read through that,
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Wit' tha mili' and I ain't talkin' 'bout no Segal mac,
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Niggas see shoot back, we can see to that,
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Hit yo front letters see through back, bring yo peoples back,
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And I used to grind out on my friends spot, 'till he's mom wanted my Tim-bots,
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Now my paint got me discounts, or trans-quo all around tha world, like I was signed to
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Pimp-dot,
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And if it's ten targets and I got ten shots,
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I'm tryin' to leave at least hit nine out of them ten shot...
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[Memphis Bleek]
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I got my mind on my money, money on mind,
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But some say its a gift, I don't write but I rhyme,
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I, complete songs with just one try,
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Tell 'em it's no lie, I (beef?) all my life dogg, I never think, it's already there,
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I find ways to say-it, so you motherfuckers hear-it,
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And when you hear it you feel it, you know its real (so...),
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This is how I live it, how its pictured for real, (nigga...),
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I'm shittin for real...
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Diamonds against wood, underground king for real,
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Big crib when I lay, yeah I'm livin' for real,
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Trust me tha guns come off tha shelf whenever shit'll get real,
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Automatics and tha extended clips, that's what I'm hittin' wit',
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Dummies in tha black rhinoes,
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(Yeah...) They be killin' shit,
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Mask up kidnap shit, that's how my niggas get,
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Chi-town, NYC, that's how my niggas get...
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[Freeway]
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Yes, just picture me rollin',
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Tha smith and wesson'll stay goin' put a hole in yo chest,
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It's just, another hustle paper gettin' made and fold ya,
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Mad, you street niggas finally made it,
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I swoop five, he know tha ride, heavily loaded,
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Deliver pies like cake, they go straight through yo payment, (Yup...),
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Chump... You don't really wanna war,
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With tha State Prop clique, if ya clique shot us, (Why us...?),
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S-P game so damn tough, tha 4 4 in tha 5th tucked ya'll cant hang,
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Transporter turned rapper, get a can for to fill my life,
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Still acclompished, wanna fill they cups?
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Tha rap version of Mandela call my bluff,
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Well still tha street dwellers feel my pain (My pain...),
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I spit a verse and split a clip in tha rain,
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A fool-proof when tha full force open you (What...?),
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[Twista]
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Twista will rock you, you don't want tha thug apostle to pop you,
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Hostile when I drop you, turnin' everything colossal to fossiles,
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I speak street gospel, all they life I spit words and paint portraits,
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For real niggas that hold down they fortress and serve off of porches,
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Hit 'em in tha body wit' tha powerful forces, that'll end all your data,
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Make you clean up your house, bag up an ounce, hit tha dance floor and bounce,
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We blessed wit' tha talent, fuck wit this clique, it ain't gon' be easy,
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'Cuz you fuckin' wit' Twist if you fuck wit Chris, Bleek and Free-wheezy,
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So speak and breath easy... Or to shoot ya's my future in 3D,
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I like whore's, I'm from a city full of Vice Lords, and GD's,
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Breeds, and Souls, 2-6's, Kings, VD's and Stones,
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Spanish cobras and all tha true soldiers survivin' are gone,
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Watch me spit if for tha killers and hustler's, flippin' all tha pounds and bricks,
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Hate on me I'ma bust at you hoes, and I put eleven down wit' a clip,
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Niggas servin' fiftys and hundreds, when I see you and I'm on yo tip,
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Twista and this East Coast Regime, it's that Chi-Roc shit
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-----------------
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Art & Life (Chi-Roc)
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| Twista |
