[Chorus]
|
you want me to cross the border?
|
well come on baby
|
you want me to cross the border?
|
well come on baby
|
|
[Boobonic]
|
They call me A.J., A.K.A. Ant Jones
|
and aye, the AK tear bones, Homes
|
seldomely ever talk over cell phones
|
or chase dudes, I choke 'em like bass tubes
|
every whip, every bitch, every leather coat
|
since '88 to right now I was never broke
|
back then I was V'd up
|
with a nut cup, problem with the price nigga? see Buck
|
never waitin' in line nigga, I bump
|
pay everybody shit just to get to the front
|
young, did I mention Twenty One?
|
with more houses that sell than Century Twenty One
|
cops respect 'cause they know we big
|
and ain't lock us up for bodies that they know we did
|
that M shit clean you out like ammonia
|
imagine '89 fuckin' Appolonia.
|
|
[Clipse]
|
Last name Robinson, first name Stacy
|
I was gettin' Cagney high and gettin' head from Lacy
|
'88 graffiti, chicks was still masin'
|
I was a Millionaire when Rick James was freebasin'
|
I paved the way, showed ballers how to ride today
|
I chopped the roof off my ride that day
|
imagine all the hate I made?
|
used to have to pull my sun visor down for shade on cloudy days
|
they would shoot up my cars
|
I would just slide back through with new rims and a paint job
|
flamboyant like a gold One-Ninety
|
with a side panel reading, I want you to find me
|
c'mon, I sold that Night Rider, and it came with a Kit
|
when you put the shit in the needle and hit it, that was it
|
Ron..ahem...Heroin, excuse me ya'll
|
I'm from Virginia where the Southern draw
|
don't mind me...
|
|
[Mr. Mister]
|
See, it's lil' Bucky, my jewels? husky
|
connects like broads, I fuck 'em but they don't fuck me
|
who owe me money in the streets? try to duck me
|
wigs get split like bananas, trust me
|
keep it butter, call me Land 'O Lakes
|
got more crack on the streets than Cali after earthquakes
|
Southwest gon' vouch for this
|
our teams trade off nicks (Knicks) like Ewing and the draft pick
|
easy money, that was all in Eighty-Nine
|
locked down every block, made all gravy mine
|
Gucci slides cost Three-Twenty-Five
|
I, pulled up in the Three-Twenty-Five I
|
and A.J. bought a Joe-Paul-Mary
|
silk shirts, his gators was Blueberry
|
and this the shit OG's used to do
|
scoop every young boy and treat 'em to City Blue.
|
|
[Fabolous]
|
It's like ya'll don't know beatbox, I was O.T. at Twelve
|
given a half at Six, an O.Z. at Twelve
|
ain't nobody come near the minor
|
that was runnin' spots in both North and South Carolina
|
by Ninety I was already a crack legend
|
pullin' up a year early in a brown Ac Legend
|
I ain't cop from Uptown, I re'd by the shores
|
and I could go a month straight in Fila Valores
|
the way I used to equip with my features
|
I was comin' to Junior High School in better whips than the teachers
|
'bout my paper, I ain't even think 'bout the chicks
|
but I kept everything Gucci from my link to my kicks
|
beatbox Mike, I learned to cook as a child
|
got knocked for attempt, the best lawyers looked at my trial
|
got Five at Eighteen, I took it and smiled
|
came home in Ninety-Two and flooded Brooklyn with valves
|
I'm back...
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
-----------------
|
Cross The Border (J.B.M. Remix)
|
| Philly's Most Wanted |
