(feat. Get Low, JT) (JT) We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin On the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like ****** doin **** deals Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a ***** I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin JT, another boss from the Bay And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say *****? JT, another boss from the Bay And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, ************ (Nina B) Hey yo it seem to me like e'rybody got they own truth Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths I play the game I was born to score But I'm a lil' too cute for them corner stores A little too, known, to stand on the block And a lil' too eager to sit in the spot Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin This lump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion I slash ya face and fracture you flashin in the latest fashion And have you dashin from Manhattan all the way to Aspen Your **** is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin Step ya game up (instrumental break) (unknown Get Low male) Listen, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Lord for strength Tryin to get my ****** out the hood, you know how the forces get It's like the devil got a hold of my neck And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set Momma used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed Must be out there gettin some money But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go For them birds ******'ll cock back the calico Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now? ***** up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out? A lot of ****** is real, a lot of ****** is fake A lot of ****** shake your hand and shake hands with Jake (another Get Low male) what'chu heard, I startled your brain I hit the spot like a {?} in ballers and jeans On some eighty-eight ****, more "Raw" than Kane It's not my fault she looked at me - you better talk to your dame That's just, part of the game and you got served Who got nerve cause Lethal hard like Tupac words And, why y'all Chucks always actin like tough guys You must be trippin or you slippin on mudslides And in the hood you see it's different from one time What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath I oughta be like Makaveli and be fakin my death I keep that good **** it's tastin so fresh And all y'all sloppy Joe ****** yo y'all makin a mess We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat
(feat. Get Low, JT) (JT) We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin On the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like ****** doin **** deals Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a ***** I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin JT, another boss from the Bay And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say *****? JT, another boss from the Bay And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, ************ (Nina B) Hey yo it seem to me like e'rybody got they own truth Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths I play the game I was born to score But I'm a lil' too cute for them corner stores A little too, known, to stand on the block And a lil' too eager to sit in the spot Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin This lump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion I slash ya face and fracture you flashin in the latest fashion And have you dashin from Manhattan all the way to Aspen Your **** is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin Step ya game up (instrumental break) (unknown Get Low male) Listen, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Lord for strength Tryin to get my ****** out the hood, you know how the forces get It's like the devil got a hold of my neck And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set Momma used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed Must be out there gettin some money But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go For them birds ******'ll cock back the calico Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now? ***** up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out? A lot of ****** is real, a lot of ****** is fake A lot of ****** shake your hand and shake hands with Jake (another Get Low male) what'chu heard, I startled your brain I hit the spot like a {?} in ballers and jeans On some eighty-eight ****, more "Raw" than Kane It's not my fault she looked at me - you better talk to your dame That's just, part of the game and you got served Who got nerve cause Lethal hard like Tupac words And, why y'all Chucks always actin like tough guys You must be trippin or you slippin on mudslides And in the hood you see it's different from one time What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath I oughta be like Makaveli and be fakin my death I keep that good **** it's tastin so fresh And all y'all sloppy Joe ****** yo y'all makin a mess We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat
