|
featuring Boot Camp Clik
|
|
[Rock]
|
Come on (BCC)
|
Come on (MFC)
|
Come on (BCC)
|
Come on (YEAH!)
|
Aiyyo Rock Rock Rock
|
Everybody say Rock not Lou from suburbs to PJ's
|
So watch ya hootchie groupies get dudes beat up
|
Or heat is leave the scene and BLAZE to get ya fleece stuck
|
See me on the streets 'bra I'll break yo' teeth up and take yo' beeper
|
Two piece your man and let Big Noc put him in a sleeper
|
Then see ya, catch me in a club on a wall
|
Spliff in my hand, big-booty broad winin on my balls
|
Surrounded my thugs, maybe two or two times ten
|
Plus the other nine cats, my Rapper Card got in (Your Rapper Card?)
|
Yeah my Rapper Card, it works in live sessions
|
Plus barbecues, hoes, clubs, weed spots ecetera
|
|
[Buckshot]
|
Buckshot rock knots wit fists
|
Niggas stay high while I rock wit this
|
Mobb on y'all niggas like The Infamous
|
Too close wit the dillinger, two shots I don't miss
|
I'm wiggin out while I'm diggin out backs
|
Run from the gun claps, run three laps
|
Perhaps, them niggas you sent to carjack
|
Buckshot got stopped in they tracks wit macs
|
Now this is what I act like when I smoke on black
|
Stay high wit the lazy-eye, bomb wit facts
|
>From the, street Bible or the street Quran
|
Fake thugs ride the dick when my shit comes on
|
I'm a nappy little nigga, still goin strong
|
You can eat a dick while I eat a thong (CLUE!)
|
But still the bomb
|
|
[Tek]
|
It's the wave-king, rock the two tone Wallees strip-ons
|
Don't wanna end up miss-on, then play your positi-on
|
My grimy Brooklyn niggas stay flippin ya chick
|
While my crew from New Jerus stay vickin ya whips
|
Tek is the shit, ain't nobody spittin like this
|
Deep impact steez been like a chromed out six
|
Wit the AMG kit, Ericsson wit the chip
|
Y'all stockin-cap copy-cats, get off the dick
|
I keep the livin quarter held down wit two nines
|
One in the bed, one in the bathroom at all times
|
So while I'm takin a shit, I'm at route and plan a hit
|
The amount we flip depends on what we get
|
It's like a Wall Street trick, dirty money move quick
|
My mans wear stones you can tip the scales wit
|
On they ears and wrists alone for every deaf one's bone
|
Look, ain't no tellin how many gats I've thrown
|
|
[Rock] (Steele)
|
Come on (yo for all my dogs gettin wild)
|
Come on (yo yo for all the shorties on the prowl)
|
Come on (yo yo for all the soldiers on the streets)
|
Come on (yo yo it's yo' time to eat)
|
|
[Lidu Rock]
|
Yo the set I claim is the set that bang
|
To the muthafuckin end, I be doin my thing (YEAH!)
|
Lidu Rock, know the name in New York we G stackin
|
First the Bloods and the Crips, now bitches is carjackin
|
Like my nigga Craig and em say, "Fuck that shit!"
|
Rockin shines in the 'Ville, you better tuck that shit
|
Or watch yo' step baby, watch where you walk
|
I put a slug up in yo' mouth so that ass won't talk
|
For real son, now we got mad cops on the block
|
Cuz we hold it down for Doc and I keep my heat cocked
|
Lidu Rock, what the fuck I know y'all niggas mad at me
|
So if you rep for yours go 'head take a stab at me, muthafucker
|
|
[Ruck]
|
You a many style copy-cat, ?bendy mile? stockin cap
|
Fake nigga from the projects who ain't got a gat
|
Ruck reign supreme, aim the steam
|
When the gun click, your ass shit navy beans
|
Maybe these, niggas ain't ready for the Magnum
|
Force, the Holocaust, balls I just dragged them
|
Off lost in the sauce and of course I'm glad them
|
Monkey niggas don't fuck wit the Ruck cuz they fags, son
|
The last one, to step to Sean P caught a bad one
|
Quincy toes tagged em after somebody stabbed em
|
Cornball niggas wit drugs thinkin they weight great
|
Still bummin money for stoges and a Drakes cake
|
|
[Steele]
|
Get it straight, y'all niggas fuckin wit some heavyweights
|
Boot Camp-ion champions on point like paper mates
|
Demonstrate, spectacular venacular
|
Smackin ya upside the back of ya head wit a spatula
|
Snatchin ya, off the street like police
|
Next week, they find your body washin up on the beach
|
Don't speak if you ain't at norm (ain't got nuttin to say fool)
|
Tally on, be gone, as we rally strong
|
See me in Brook-lyn where crooks be armed
|
Terro |