|
(Mobb Deep)
|
|
Shit is real on the muthafucking hill, God
|
Times is hard, visons blurred kid, I can't see far
|
Thinking will I be the next nigga deceased
|
Over some bullshit beef I pack heat
|
Son it's '96 and I ain't going out like that
|
Never roll a dollo cuz my crew got my back
|
And it's a fact, niggas don't know how to act
|
Till I cop back, react, leave 'em laying on they back
|
Sometime I try to maintain and chill
|
Stop my brain from thinking, restrain from grabbing my steal
|
I'm stressed out, trying to live right on the wrong route
|
Thinking of ways to get loot in large amounts
|
So I chill on the block, nigga respect mines
|
?A giver wit the nets? and the muthafucking tech nines
|
So pack steel if you come through, front if you want to
|
Before you do, so let me warn you
|
|
We more infamous, crime shit, take it to the gat
|
Fuck the rhyme shit, you reminded of what the nine did
|
Remanded, QBC, then left stranded
|
We cock cannons, punishing and back handing
|
|
Chorus(2x)
|
|
(M.O.P)
|
|
In order to survive the game
|
Know the game
|
Hold your name
|
And let them niggas know
|
The way to win the war
|
Attend the war
|
End the war
|
And let your hammer go
|
|
(Kool G. Rap)
|
|
Yo, I'll leave your whole body twisted when you get lifted
|
And police'll have to fist rumblistics on a bisket, another statistic
|
I try to chill but you insisted coming all in my district
|
I don't know why the fuck you risk it
|
I be more deep, walking the streets, packing the heat
|
Bring the cowmeat, you'll lifted off your feet and leave you sleeping on
|
the concrete
|
Get blown at home or whatever is on your bone
|
Get to flown to your dome, blow chromosones out your flesh and bones
|
Hitman for hire, who's the next one to expire
|
Shoot it up in black attire, hit you wit the rapid fire
|
The stainless bisket will leave your brain smoking
|
Your whole frame broken and clothes soaken, head blown the fuck open
|
Try to step inside of fort and get caught
|
Wit the trey pound shorter left on the sidewalks of New York
|
The decompose, blood flows are holes in your clothes, eyes closed
|
Body be frozed, posing for pictures with a rose
|
Head to your toes, look like you got wetted with a hose
|
The road you choose got your brain drain through your nose, nigga
|
So who be commiting crimes, dangerous minds, put two to your spine
|
Lay you behind enemy lines
|
When we cross it and leave you like a broken faucet
|
The underworld production family can reinforce it
|
|
(Mobb Deep)
|
|
Yo, when shit get real, it ain't what you expected
|
Me and kikos are known to get hectic
|
Only to wreck shit, many slugs in all directions
|
Make you see the light when my shot makes connections
|
Niggas get their face split in section
|
Shooked, using ice grilled looks for they protection
|
?We saw? everything you fear
|
And indulging in crime-filled atmosphere
|
This shit ain't nuttin' new, it's only things that we used to
|
We used to stick niggas on the F through to
|
The E train, when it's time to recruit
|
I humble on the D train, see my man D, Don't need to purchase my cocaine
|
Word to my newborn seed
|
A nigga gotta make loot to support greed
|
On the wildside of the fence, the shit is on the verge of explosion
|
It's so cold, you might get frozen
|
If you leave yourself vulnerable and time lasping
|
Fools collasping and caught up in gun clapping
|
No matter who you are if you know many faces
|
I don't discriminate, my shot bleed all races
|
And coaches, we sorts like vultures
|
Eating your insides like ulcers and pour niggas closer nigga
|
|
Chorus
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
Know Da Game
|
| Kool G Rap |