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Hey yo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to Tupac
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Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on newlots
|
I was too young, couldnt get up in clubs back in the old days
|
We used rob and terrorize kids in front of homebase
|
If Funkmaster Flex was inside, rockin the whole place
|
We was outside, smacking kids and snatchin gold chains
|
Baggin mad pigeons, catchin mad digits, bad bitches
|
And when they husbands came around we had to blast bisquits
|
A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols
|
Broken dreams and broken homes, we always had issues
|
And mad problems worshippin gangstas and bankrobbers
|
Watchin star fade startin fights and rap conscience (?)
|
Until we realized how to get the real money
|
Steal money, kidnap money, kill money
|
Its funny how the money make the whole world love you
|
Jealous cats hate you, dime pigeons
|
Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna touch you
|
Got the IRS lookin at you, wanna fuck you
|
Sniffin so much blow, you dont know if you can trust you
|
Ecstasy react to what the cocaine and the dust do
|
Go against the Ill Bill, and Non Phixion will crush you, bust you
|
Leave you with a tube and ya throat to suck through (?)
|
We truck jewels, we dust brothers fuck mothers
|
You thugs love us, ? the gunslingers and drughustlers
|
Where my gangstas at?
|
|
[Cuts]
|
"Is you a gangsta?"
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"With gangsta rap"
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Gangsta Rap
|
| Ill Bill |
