[Intro: E-Snaps]
|
Aww, man, yeah, Lenox Ave. Boyz
|
Aww, man, come on, yea, yeah, yo
|
|
[E-Snaps]
|
You doin' what you doin', let's get it
|
Starvin' and you robbin', and you catch a nigga slippin', best get 'em
|
Hit 'em where the good Lord split him
|
Introduce myself, go booth yourself
|
In the far left lane, and I'm, hydro planed
|
And I'm, slingin' my 'caine, don't care how you feel
|
Checkin' out the truck, check the wheels
|
Wanna get fucked, bitch kneel, let me splash in your grill
|
Who but me? Muthafuckin' right, get it right
|
Papi of this motherfuckin' thing, truck tight
|
Rollin' with my niggaz, we ain't lookin' for no fights
|
Now pop one in your head, that's all she said
|
It's time to get head in my Mercedes-Benz
|
Chipped up and I ain't even talkin' bout my jams
|
Clipped up, so any nigga frontin', gettin' banned
|
Give 'em all ten in his chin, I'm all in
|
|
[Chorus 4X: Meeno]
|
Move back, move back, you can't fuck with me, huh
|
I'm from the click called N.I.B
|
|
[Meeno]
|
Next up, I believe that's me
|
Meeno, get it right, no descrempancy
|
Always keep a weapon, see, run it ground
|
Worth of stones, nothin' less on me, why you stress on me
|
Niggaz mad cause I stretch my D., ya'll dudes want my recipe?
|
Here's what ya'll do, hit the lab, write an album or two
|
Then I might let you sign my shoe, that's just how I do
|
Everybody sayin', boy too souped up
|
Nah, I'm just hot, plus Bentley Coup'd up
|
Who put, you too busy holdin' the stoupe up
|
Ya'll fault your broke, and not mine, stupe'a
|
I'm like Juve', I need it in my life
|
Got fifty birds flyin' in, later on tonight
|
Rock and I hustle, so I get paid twice
|
Life is a gamble boy, roll your dice
|
|
[Chorus 4X]
|
|
[Tony Wink]
|
Who you know spit flows, get dough like I
|
In the L.A.B.'s, motherfucker, no lie
|
Hit the links I've seen, back in late '95
|
Had to wait for two nine, rockin' and clickin' on both sides
|
Of course we gon' ride, ride over the competition
|
The real has arrived, ya'll bitch niggaz is finished
|
All I gotta do is Nextel tag my lieutenant
|
Your whole click will get toe tagged tagged in two minutes
|
This to them fools thinkin' they gon' catch the God slippin'
|
I'm always on point and I'm always packin' my weapon
|
You see me in the club, believe me, I got the tech in
|
I slipped the DJ a guard, you slipped it in with the records
|
Either you love it or hate it, but bet you gon' respect it
|
Rainbow glow, when the lights hit off the necklace
|
I'm what you can't be, young, black, rich, and wreckless
|
It's the god free, and L.A.B.'s, one two, check it
|
|
[Chorus 2X]
|
|
[Interlude: Jae Millz]
|
Remix! Huh, yeah, it's 101, what?
|
You know what it is when you hear that, Harlem
|
Fix ya face or smacked in it, Harlem
|
Harlem, right here, Harlem
|
You gon' stupid if you don't bounce to this man
|
You gonna only look like a hater, huh-huh
|
Lenox Ave. Boyz, what up, it's only right
|
They know what it is, man, remix
|
|
[Jae Millz]
|
Move back, its no touchin' me, I'm from that place called NYC
|
H Dub to the death, and I don't give a fuck what party it is
|
I'm still in the club wearin' sweats (hah)
|
Milk ears with the money colored check
|
Ill two step, blowin' dubs with the best
|
Live life, most hated, with my Lenox Ave. Boyz
|
Remix, Move Back, with Grease providing all the noise
|
Huh, your home boy game so raw
|
And I ain't even gotta say my name no more
|
Haters wanna give my name to the law
|
But punchin' and kickin', to kick us all, they can blame you for
|
Might catch me in the 'Lac with Snaps
|
Or lightin' sticky green 'dro, with Wink and Meeno
|
You from the hood and you ain't no coward, well me neither
|
And before you step on my sneaker, I really think you need to (move back, move
|
back)
|
|
[Drag-On]
|
This your boy to the dash
|
Same nigga, no talkin', just result to the mass
|
I stab niggaz, throw the hawk in the trash
|
Peroxide my bullets, give the burners a bath
|
Three fifty Z, burnin' the Ave
|
I'm old school, I still got the fiends burnin' the glass
|
I pull the pump off my waist, and dumb in your face
|
I'm a little bit too hard for the radios to play
|
I still can spit eighty miles a |