[Pharrell]
|
You ready to do this, nigga?
|
You ready to come down here?
|
It's Virginia, nigga...
|
We do this in broad daylight...
|
It's a whole different degree of homicide, nigga...
|
You ready?
|
|
[Chorus: Pusha T & (Pharrell)]
|
I'm from Virginia, where ain't shit to do but cook (Talk about, what?)
|
Pack it up, sell it triple-price, fuck the books (Talk about, what?)
|
Where we re-up, re-locate, re-off them brooks (Talk about, what?)
|
So when we pull up, it ain't shit to do but look (Talk about, what?)
|
|
[Pusha T]
|
In my "Home Sweet Home" I keep chrome next to my bones
|
Alters my walk to limpin'
|
Since I love the feel, I guess I'm passionately pimpin'
|
It 'tis what it seems
|
That thing imprintin' through the seams of my jeans, by all means
|
Lost it all, from lives to love
|
Put my faith in my money, help me rise above
|
See I turned to the Lord when them times got tough
|
Bullied through streets, powder I pushed and shoved
|
In that ole' Virginey
|
Out of ten niggas, nine are guinea
|
No money, all they know is gimme, got semis waitin'
|
Heat like Caribbean summers, I been there
|
Each year, a diffferent bitch wonder
|
Who wing she gon' fall under, Push' or Mal'
|
Ganga grinds, wit' me, with thoughts of fuckin' them cross her mind
|
Look ma, that's right up my alley
|
I love my family, I want them all happy
|
In Virginia, we smirked at that Simpson trial
|
Yeah, I guess the chase was wild
|
But what's the fuss about?
|
See, plenty my partners feelin' like O.J.
|
Beat murder like the shit is OK, that's what our door say
|
Talk the evil that men do, I'm lost in the mental
|
I miss you Shampoo, we miss you Shampoo
|
And your grams, too...
|
[Pharrell]
|
My nigga...
|
Fo sho...
|
|
[Chorus 2X's: Pusha T & (Pharrell)]
|
I'm from Virginia, where ain't shit to do but cook (Talk about, what?)
|
Pack it up, sell it triple-price, fuck the books (Talk about, what?)
|
Where we re-up, re-locate, re-off them brooks (Talk about, what?)
|
So when we pull up, it ain't shit to do but look (Talk about, what?)
|
|
[Malice]
|
Seem like they all got a comment to make
|
In regards to my paper, now they guessin' my weight
|
They fast to predict the outcome of my fate
|
Wonderin' 'bout Clipse and if they got what it take
|
Malice, he think he hard, tough guy of the clique
|
And Pusha, he walk around like he swear he the shit
|
You right on both counts, bitch, Clipse is us
|
And there are some things that you don't discuss
|
Don't ask me 'bout the Neptunes and what's they fair
|
Don't ask about the loud screamin' chick with the hair
|
Don't ask about my music, and how that's comin' 'bout
|
Don't ask about my album, or when's it comin' out
|
'Cause I feel like you really being funny on the slide
|
Now face down, layin' on your tummy, or you die
|
I tried being humble, humble get no respect
|
Now the first sign of trouble, that's a hole up in your neck
|
Plus, what I look like spendin' my nights in jail
|
I could never be a thug, they don't dress this well
|
I reside in VA, ride in VA
|
Most likely when I die, I'm gon' die in VA
|
Virginia's for lovers, but trust there's hate here
|
For out-of-towners, who think that they gon' move weight here
|
Ironic, the same same place I'm makin' figures at
|
That there's the same land they used to hang niggas at, in Virginia...
|
|
[Chorus 2X's: Pusha T & (Pharrell)]
|
I'm from Virginia, where ain't shit to do but cook (Talk about, what?)
|
Pack it up, sell it triple-price, fuck the books (Talk about, what?)
|
Where we re-up, re-locate, re-off them brooks (Talk about, what?)
|
So when we pull up, it ain't shit to do but look (Talk about, what?)
|
|
[Pharrell]
|
Young'n... (Talk about, what?)
|
This is real, young'n... (Talk about, what?)
|
You lookin' into a whole different world, young'n (Talk about, what?)
|
This is real...
|
Live...
|
|
-----------------
|
Virginia
|
The Clipse |