[Verse One: MJG]
|
Here comes the one they call the P.I. -- M.P.
|
Straight out the cut no one can see I -- bust these
|
Way out of touch with all them bustas in my rear view
|
but see they game, so lame, I can hear through
|
I Hens doggin at the bar, actin real nice (real nice)
|
Six pack of Hen, straight up, with no ice -- tap me twice
|
Did you really want my full attention?
|
Sometimes my mind (intertwine) with the tenth dimension
|
I see you inchin to my ride, tired, rest them legs
|
Soon as you open up your mouth (uhh) there's the head
|
Now who I be, MJG, certified, mic controller
|
(Uncle Sam, I want you!) Trick bend over
|
I'm a petrified rapper talkin, and you ain't nuttin
|
but an electrified shyster walkin, I'm tired of savin
|
people from takin these dead end trips, I'ma just go
|
and bust this champagne upside your ship, alright you hip?
|
You in a hurry? You can't relate?
|
Don't ever say that I ain't try to set it to you straight
|
I'm out the gate before you hate but I'll be back again
|
You saw me faintly through the crowd but now I'm in the wind
|
Once again
|
|
[Chorus: Eightball and MJG]
|
In the wind, it's a bird, it's a plane
|
Now it be them hustlers with that skin tight game
|
In your mix, scopin you, scopin me
|
Eightball and MJG to the end, bustas we in the wind
|
|
[Verse Two: Eightball]
|
I sold my soul to this hustle, homeboy scratch what you heard
|
T front me a keyboard, I flipped it like a bird, word
|
on them streets be them Suave House beats
|
In the Benz blowin Sweets got your gal between my sheets
|
Speak -- I ain't have to say one little thang
|
The fame of my name blew the ghetto freak brain
|
Lookin for a meal ticket, she let me stick it
|
Wicked when she lick it, tryin to make me trick it
|
Girl, when I was broke it seemed all about the luxury
|
Now I got cheese, I got a pay a girl to love with me
|
But I'm a jelly worker, like Smuckers
|
Workin against them suckers, big facin just to love a
|
broad that done been around the world in a day
|
Bear lovin whoever got cheddar to pay
|
Ball like no trick ass, them shakers if I tip
|
I be drunk, in the club, smokin sticky cat nip
|
Slip, as if a banana peel was dropped in my path
|
into a body bodyworkin not discussin no math
|
Playa haters all around me as I stumble and grin
|
Snatch my vest, twist somethin, hit the rumble and then...
|
|
[Chorus 2X]
|
|
[Verse Three: MJG, Eightball]
|
I flip scripts on young dips who think they hip
|
Smoke up your whole zip, sess hydro or crip
|
Time and time again, stories have been told
|
About the super hustler dyin tryin to get the gold
|
Concrete jungle full of, carniverous firearm
|
Hunger for flesh, and pray on who ain't strong
|
Heavy weighters, with plenty hoes that buy em alligators
|
In the wind, breakin all big ?
|
|
Pick artificial tricks stolen money makers
|
Money trees come in please, help a player shake a
|
million down to the ground, feel them hits fall
|
Ride with me I'll run your game into a brick wall, trick y'all
|
is what this false literary do, then reality come
|
(and snatch the natural dust out you) who speaks the truth?
|
Whose your leeches? Whose your friends?
|
I plan to bring the realness back again, but until then
|
I'm in the wind
|
|
[Chorus 4X]
|
|
-----------------
|
In The Wind
|
8Ball & MJG |