[Huddy Combs]
|
Yo, only got twelve bars so let me cut to the chase
|
Fuckin' wit' Stase, I caught a buck in the face
|
I got the set me up, everybody's drinkin' Henney
|
Kid named Timmy actin' friendly
|
Grabbed her by offending, sure
|
Hurt cuz his game didn't work
|
He didn't know the alchohol's about to get him merc
|
He tried to french kiss her
|
Yo, that's my man twin sister
|
Swung on him, but he threw the toaste in my ear
|
I shoulda known he had people posted in here
|
So I waited 'till the coast was clear
|
And when he walked off, I put four in his rear, yeah, yeah
|
|
[Stase]
|
Yo, Hud is the type, give him an inch? He takin' a yard
|
Cuz see, he the type of cat that be thinkin' he hard
|
I told him if he gonna come, he got ta come by eight
|
But Hud don't never listen what I say
|
He always do it his way, instead of our way
|
That's why he always caught up in some damn foul play
|
Talkin' 'bout I said at nine, he killin' time
|
And he ain't checked the time on his wrist
|
He probably somewhere lying to a chick
|
Talkin' 'bout he rich, no, it ain't right
|
How he gon' leave my big brother Mase and jell overnight
|
He wouldn't sell us out or yell us out
|
But messin' wit' Hud, we ain't even get to bail him out
|
|
[Cardan]
|
I can't believe this nigga Hud tried to blame it on me
|
We on the I-95, three jars on my seat
|
I'm hopin' cops don't be prejudiced, if not we don't eat
|
You know what that mean, shut up Hud, keep drivin' the jeep
|
We got about ten miles, we don' did ten states
|
I shoulda stayed, knowing Hud? He gon' gas you to stay
|
I'm tellin' Hud, yo, pull over we ain't pissed since Penn State
|
The windows all foggy, plus we got temp plates
|
Now Hud steady streetin', not listenin' and yappin'
|
Smokin' Buddah straight from Cuba, 'bout to wish this ain't happen
|
I ain't tryin' to point no fingers but it's all Hud's fault
|
If he wasn't speedin' wit' no weed we woulda never got caught
|
|
[Huddy Combs]
|
Cardie, when you gon' grow up? You need to get chips
|
Stack dough up, switch your flow up, cuz your single was a donut
|
Baby Stase, need to learn to stay in the place
|
And Mase, that's your twin, tell her stay out my face
|
And Loon, that's my man but he floss too much
|
He wanna hang out, 'bout, but he cost too much
|
And Meeno, that's my dog, but he talk too much
|
And Blink, fake pretty boy, soft as butt
|
Oh damn, if I get touched, we gon' all get touched
|
Go against Harlem World and we gon' toss you up
|
|
[Cuda]
|
Hey yo, Meeno, Hey yo, this is Cuda man
|
There go Loon
|
Tell him what you told him you was gon' tell him when you see him
|
|
[Meeno]
|
Yeah, yeah, playboy, my man Loon
|
Went out like a straight buffoon
|
For a pretty face, a slim waist, sweet perfume
|
Can't believe this shit
|
Second week in June, second night in Cancun
|
Pop Cris' by the full moon and the stars is bright
|
Pray to God that I catch me a slide tonight
|
But of course, Loon gets drunk then starts to floss
|
Runnin' his yap 'bout the same chick he toss
|
Same chick from tour, all I got was jaw
|
He's all in love, seen it all before
|
Sucka' for love, this is man for a whore
|
And until this day, still goin' to war
|
|
[Loon]
|
Hey yo, you just mad cuz my chick drop dead
|
And you mad cuz I went to Cancun got head
|
You fed, cuz I'm doin' it and gettin' more bread
|
Why your block hotter than a nuclear warhead
|
You more fed cuz my pockets are stacked up
|
While you spend most of your day baggin' your cracks up
|
You fat fuck
|
Hope you get hit by a Mack truck
|
And don't come around fourty and front and get tapped up
|
Cracked up, can't wait 'till this album is wrapped up
|
I'mma take you to a vacant lot, dare you to act up
|
So strap up, cuz I know you don't like me
|
But just know you won't get a chance to fight me
|
Loon, All Out
|
|
-----------------
|
Pointing Fingers
|
Mase |