But I would've loved to hear
|
A Big Pun and B.I.G. collabo
|
That shit would've been incredible
|
Aye yaknahmsayin, it was just happen
|
We have our day, you know?
|
I seen him, I seen him,
|
I seen him at the pearly gates, yaknahmean?
|
We keep it, keep it, keep it going from there
|
Uhh, I dream filthy
|
My moms and pops mixed me
|
with Jamaican Rum and Whiskey
|
Huh, what a set up
|
Shoulda pushed 'em dead off,
|
wipe the sweat off
|
Uhh, cause in this world I'm dead off,
|
squeeze lead off
|
Benz sped off,
|
ain't no shook hands in Brook-land
|
Army fatigue break up teams, the enemies
|
Look man,
|
you wanna see me locked up, shot up
|
Moms crotched up over the casket,
|
screamin BASTARD
|
Cryin, know my friends is lyin
|
Y'all know who killed 'em filled 'em
|
with the lugars from they Rugers
|
or they Desert,
|
dyin ain't the shit but it's pleasant
|
Kinda quiet, watch my niggaz bring the riot
|
Giving cats the opposite of diets
|
You gain thirty pounds when you die no lie,
|
lazy eye
|
I was high when they hit me,
|
took a few cats with me
|
Shit, I need the company uh-huh
|
Apoligies in order, to T'Yanna my daughter
|
If it was up to me you would be with me,
|
sorta like
|
Daddy Dearest, my vision be the clearest
|
Silencers so you can't hear it
|
Competition still fear it, shit don't ask me
|
I went from ashy to nasty to classy, and still
|
Nigga still gotta get his grind on
|
Come get introduced to my home
|
I grew up in the crime zone
|
Soon as you grown, you on your own,
|
you keep your strap
|
You keep your chrome
|
cause the streets is chilly
|
Now get your grind on
|
Come get introduced to my home
|
A nigga grew up in the pro-jects,
|
end up gettin mo' stressed
|
Mo' money,
|
mo' drama you know a nigga keep his armor
|
Cause the streets are killin
|
Now get your grind on
|
Come get introduced to my home
|
The penalty is death,
|
especially when I'm mentally stressed
|
My enemies hang with me 'til I eventually flip
|
I never reject an offer to battle
|
Slap a coffin on the saddle
|
and rattle like a wooden horse to el barrio
|
Niggaz talk but they babble
|
cause they ain't sayin nuttin
|
If ain't blazin somethin with the mac
|
I'm in the shack bakin muffins
|
Fake the funk and get your rump roast
|
One dose of the toast'll make you jump
|
if you come close
|
Pun spoke, ain't no more debatin;
|
my Squad been waitin
|
for the perfect time to give you
|
what you all been waitin
|
An orgi-nation of veterans built
|
with genuine skills to pay the heat, gas,
|
and the rest of the bills
|
Invest in the real, don't get left in the hills
|
My tech and my steel turn your whole
|
crew into vega-ta-bills
|
We blessed with the will to never surrender
|
cause my every agenda's in and out,
|
unseen like I entered the ninja
|
It's my world
|
Nigga still gotta get his grind on
|
Come get introduced to my home
|
I grew up in the crime zone
|
Soon as you grown, you on your own,
|
you keep your strap
|
You keep your chrome
|
cause the streets is chilly
|
Now get your grind on
|
Come get introduced to my home
|
A nigga grew up in the pro-jects,
|
end up gettin mo' stressed
|
Mo' money,
|
mo' drama you know a nigga keep his armor
|
Cause the streets are killin
|
Now get your grind on
|
I got that new F-N, call it that faggot nigga gun
|
Couple of hollow tips make you
|
faggot niggaz run
|
Crack pull up, everybody clear out
|
Anybody pumpin that rock is gettin aired out
|
I'm in that caddy with my bitch in the pack
|
Your mommy got a body
|
but she itchin to clap
|
And I know you pitchin purple
|
but we switchin the packs
|
Listen, don't make me hurt you
|
I'm just givin the facts
|
On that I 9-5 swirvin to a town near you
|
My niggaz watch out for
|
that Black Surburbans
|
And no it's not the Feds, man papi's home
|
And papi got it good, he could put you on
|
Listen, I done made abandoned
|
blocks look hot
|
Nine to ten Benzes, a couple of drops
|
Couple of rubber bands from the corrupt cops
|
Just to see my niggaz eat
|
and shit and huggin the blocks
|
Crack a chestize 'em, right besides 'em
|
In front of a hundred million viewers,
|
shouldn't surprise 'em
|
We from the Bronx where the may-ors lift up
|
And niggaz get shot in broad day
|
| cause we don't |
