After Dollars, No Cents - Lyrics - Master P

Title: After Dollars, No Cents
Artist: Master P
Composer(s): K-Lou Masta P Silkk The Shocke

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Come one, come all, tru niggaz ball
I know there's niggaz out there wait'n fo' tha fall

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Tryna pay tha rent

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Nigga tryna pay tha rent

I'm a hustla, balla, nigga gee'z, cut keyz
Gats for enemies, freeze, hundreds of greens
Kill, robbery soldiaz born to ride
Killaz born to die, mommaz was born to cry

Wild like tha lone fuck'n ranger
Niggaz from tha South keep one up in tha chamber
Lord knows when ya enemy is quick
That's why niggaz watch'n niggaz back

'Cuz they gone off that pila shit cane
Niggaz game, heroin in tha vain, fuck'n with there brains
Who tha next nigga ta get popped by a cop?
Who tha next in tha hood to get shot?

I hope it ain't me, so I'm strapped up in bulletproof
Nigga on my stomach see muthafuck'n TRU
Soldia till I die, fuck it I won't cry
Look my enemy in tha eye

Fuck every nigga that ain't real, 'cuz we 'bout it
And if I have to die 'cuz a nigga gon' shout it
I was born a 'No Limit Soldia' from heart
Cowards run they mouth, but killaz don't talk

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Tryna pay tha rent

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Tryna pay tha rent

You no Kris, I'm Kros, y'all ran, we walked
No Limit niggaz got Ghetto Dope by pounds and balls
Blow'n tapes up in flames, like weed
Got boxed albums up like keyz from tha South to Overseaz

Niggaz Independent and Rowdy
Nigga check billboard number 1 and bout it
That's why niggaz tryna get us on tha radio
Now niggaz might see tha P on tha video

But a niggaz still tru to tha gizame
Represent tha hood and every fuck'n nigga that gang-bang
These streets iz so real, fool guard ya grill
Smoke 1 fo' tha homies that have made it over tha hill, 'cuz we

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Tryna pay tha rent

After dollars, no cents
From Shabz to Benz
From cheddar to cheeze
Tryna pay tha rent

After dollarz, no cents
We represent'n No Limit
Put it down Rolex, presidential
Nigga ride everythang I done sent you

Nigga, I went from riches to riches
Not muthafuck'n rags to riches
'Cuz I've always had money
Plus I've always had bitches

Young muthafuckaz tryna get Mojo
Nigga act like ya muthafuckaz know
'Cuz I pull a high solo, hit 'em fo' they gee'z low
Lay low, crow get a bien' to go

Why ain't you ever know?
Don't crush dimes and mo mo's
Nigga runnin' from tha po-po's, high from a low low
Take a trip together to tha ocapulka

But show those
Put ya breasts right up under my polo's
Nigga strapped with a 44' and I'm solo
To try test'n tha best nut and that's a no, no

365 days, 24-7, I'm 'bout my richez
See money is a must, everything is a plus
Including weed and bitchez

It went from 18.5 a key, not 18.5 fo' me
See'n P ta do a show, act like y'all know
Ghetto millionaire, ship and guard tha dope, you know

We have Silkk and P

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dfc192b33ebf2e9aa46bc81dc78f5512

Ain'T Nothing Changed - Lyrics - Only God Can Judge Me - Master P

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American Bad Ass - Lyrics - The History Of Rock - Kid Rock

Title: American Bad Ass
Album: The History Of Rock
Artist: Kid Rock
Composer(s): R.J. Ritchie, James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Yeah and I set up and tore down this stage with my own two hands
We've travel this land packed tight in mini vans
And all this for the fans, girls, money, and fame
I played their game and as they scream my name
I will show no shame, I live and die for this
And if I come off soft then chew on this, are you scared?

Devil without a cause
And I'm back with the Beaver hats and Ben Davis slacks
Thirty pack of Strohs, thirty pack of hoes
No rogaine and the propane flows

The chosen one, I'm the living proof
With the gift of gab from the city of truth
I jabbed and stabbed and knocked critics back
And I did not stutter when I said that

I'm going platinum, sellin' rhymes
I went platinum, seven times
And still they ill, they wanna see us fry
I guess because only God knows why, why why why

Ohh, they call me cowboy, I'm the singer in black
So throw a finger in the air and let me see where you're at
Say hey hey, let me hear where your at and say hey hey
I'm givin' it back, so say hey hey, show me some metal and say
Hey hey hey hey, aah, gat, fuck y'all

I like AC-DC and ZZ Top
Bocephus, Beasties and the Kings Of Rock
Skynyrd, Segar, Limp, Korn, The Stones
David Allen Coe and no show Jones

Pass that bottle around, got the rock from Detroit
Soul from Motown the underground stoned fuckin' pimp
With tracks that mack and slap back the whack
Never gay, no way, I don't play with ass

But watch me rock with Liberace flash
Punk rock, The Clash, boy bands are trash
I like Johnny Cash and Grand Master Flash
Flash flash flash flash

Ohh, they call me cowboy, I'm the singer in black
So throw a finger in the air and let me see where you're at
Say hey hey, let me hear where your at and say, hey hey
I'm givin' it back, so say hey hey, show me some metal and say
Hey hey hey hey, uh, uh, uh, gat

Yeah, I saw your band
Jumpin' around on stage like a bunch of wounded ducks
When you gonna learn sucker, you just can't fuck with
Twisted Br-Br-Brown Brown, Trucker

I'm an, American Bad Ass, watch me kick
You can roll with rock or you can suck my dick
I'm a porno flick, I'm like Amazing Grace
I'm gonna fuck some hoe's after I rock this place

Super fly, livin' double wide, sidecar my glide
So Joe C can ride
Full sack to share, bringin' flash and glare
Got the long hair swingin' middle finger in the air

Snakeskin suits, Sixty-five Chevelle's
See me ride in sin, hear the rebel yell
I won't live to tell, so if you do
Give the next generation a big, fuck you

Who knew I'd blow up like Oklahoma
Said fuck highschool, pissed on my diploma
Smell the aroma, check my hits, I know it stinks in here
'Cause I'm the shit, shit, shit, shit, shit

Ohh, they call me cowboy, I'm the singer in black
So throw a finger in the air, let me see where you're at
Say hey hey, let me hear where you're at and say hey hey
I'm givin' it back so say, hey hey, show me some metal and say
Hey hey hey hey

I'm a cowboy, bad ass in black, singin', hey hey hey hey
From side to side, from front to back, say hey hey hey hey
I put Detroit City back on the map and singin
Hey hey hey hey, Kid Rock's in the house and that's where I'm at

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9438404f262ff592ee05d54f966195d3

Back On Top - Lyrics - Gameface - Master P

Title: Back On Top
Album: Gameface
Artist: Master P
Composer(s): Obi Nwobosi, George Jr Clinton, Walter Morrison, Garry Shider, Ainz Prasad, Percy Miller

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Gameface, uuh
Check them haters out, check them haters out
Check them haters out, check them haters out
Check them haters out, check them haters out
What? What? What? What?
The new No Limit you heard me them 'round platinum tank

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

Criticism in the party like it's H20
In the back of the club sayin' bring some more
Me and my soldiers where the party at?
Hinicy, Gin, and Juice who ordered that?
'Cuz ya'll got cars and we got locked
Ya'll buy houses and we buy blocks
It ain't No Limit to the dough I got
The Ghetto Bill Gates in the parkin' lot

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

Got my pork chop mixed with 2 eggs
A country tycoon with a hole lot of bread
Bentleys and Hummers we 'bout that there
And all my No Limit Soldiers how you do that their?
A couple of pages left but man we got colder
6 feet 5 in the hood we break boulders
Smash supermodels 'cuz they chicks to me
And a million dollars more is like grits to me

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

Always willin' out but if I'm not willin'
You can take a picture of me on the island smilin'
Love for the haters but they mostly envys
More type of shepherds on lock but they mostly 20's
Play this game, we suppose to win
I drive a lot of cars but they mostly Bentleys
Lot of glass for Cris but they mostly bottles
See me with ghetto chicks but mostly models and um

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

Ya'll now we on top, but the tank ain't dropped
We be like non stop with the one spot on locked
You wanna play these games where the MVP's
So fresh and so clean like some people in jeans, uuh

Oh look, what? Look
We from the south where they got golds in they mouth
Barbeque's all day right in front of the house
We use slit and slang like
What's cracky man? What's happney man?
We goin' to a platinum, man
We play ball all year, it's that all year

No Limit, P. Miller man, that's all we wear
We run it phat, soldiers get down like that
From the club to the streets we get around like that
Sad vapor roll with dogs that will chase ya
There's love in the game but some will still rate ya
I'm the type jump a crowd and get hype
Rip in track check the source while mights

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

Where them ballers at shot callers at?
Cris style more wet we want all of that
Where them ballers at shot callers at?
D. D. Rimin, we want all of that
No Limit run this for you?
Hell yea
I said No Limit run this for you?
Hell yea

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)

No Limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
No limit is back on top, ya'll haters can't stop us now
(Turn your Gameface, represent your nameplate)
...

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1beab972b6a2b1b2bb7e32626a79eee9

Bed And Breakfast Man - Lyrics - Complete Madness - Madness

Title: Bed And Breakfast Man
Album: Complete Madness
Artist: Madness
Composer(s): Barso

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Well, there's a man I know
At least, I used to years ago
I didn't really mind
He used to come 'round all the time

Of course, he had to be fed
I had to give him a bed
He used to kip on my sofa
They used to call him, a loafer

I've heard he's changed
A lot since then
But some of his ways
He just can't mend

Told the other day
That he'd offered to pay
He didn't like his dad
He earned all he ever had

He didn't have no shame
He was a master at his game
He never showed his hand
He was the bed and breakfast man

He was, he was the bed and breakfast man

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Bourbans And Llacs - Lyrics - Master P

Title: Bourbans And Llacs
Artist: Master P
Composer(s): King Miller Vyshonn, Odell Elliott Jr Brown, David Ritz, Lawrence Johnson, Percy Miller, Marvin P Gaye

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
This is for the Bourbans and the 'Llac's
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks

This is for the Bourbans and the 'Llac's
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
Slappin' skins, makin' dividends and riding strapped

(Uhh)
Wood grain with the leather seats
Windows so dark you need a flashlight to see me
Smokin' on that doshia
Four niggas in the back screaming No Limit soldiers!
True to the gizzame, stopped in the projects
Sold a half an ounce of cocaine

Hit interstate ten, to Texas
Listening to DJ Screw just raised the Lexus
Called up Pimp C, did a song last week with my nigga Bun B
Twistin' on some green spinach
And niggas still trippin', I aint dead, I'm still in it

This is for the Bourbans and the 'Llac's
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players, hustlas, pimps and macks
With the Benz makin' ends and them paper stacks

See pockets full of dollars
Already stacked strong gangsta leaning sideways
Today ain't Friday, ten it is and today is my day
Take it from mister high spoke rider
Cadillac Suburban driver, pussy diver

Push the glock inside when I'm riding
Flossing down the block, holla at my boys up in the third
Got the latest word, swerve to the side of the curb
A fiend that wanted me to serve him, I said bitch can't tell I'm off?

But I still gave him five dollars to wipe my white walls
And then I burst up out the block, dropped the top 'cause it was hot
Hit the spot with the most hoes at the sideshow, abouts to plot

Hittin' donuts, you know I'm macking, a straight up nigga
Catch me spinnin', you can tell I was there
'Cause I clocked smoke when I was finished
I seen five-o, and man he tried to sweat me
Thinkin' he'd be nice and all

'Cause I gotta 185 in the hood and you know they can't catch me
And if you see me chilling you can stop me
But I keep that glock
40 up on the dashboard you never know who might not be
This is for the playas

Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie
Playa, play on
I can't hate you homie

Bourbans and 'Llacs, mansions and bitches, money and weed
A made life is all I dream, paper chasing for that green
I'm thugging on the scene, nigga
Whatcha don't believe, well check the credents, they'll tell ya

A niggas living presidential
I'm on the level that you bustas will never feel
My daughter thought I'd get caught up in the game and get killed
But reverse that shit and hit the studio and make a mill
For real, I'm slanging platinum shit until I'm old and ill

Lil' Gotti, I'm gonna make you feel what I say, I got time to parlay
Chill off in the bay, smoke some hay
I wouldn't have that shit no other way
The made life, the game tight, No Limit for life

This is for the Bourbans and the 'Llac's
With the tens and twelves bumpin' in the back
This is for the players smokin' doolamac
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks

This is for the Bourbans and the 'Llac's
With the tens and twelves bumpin in the back
This is for the players smokin doolamac
With the Benz makin' ends I mean them paper stacks

Playa play on
I can't hate you homie

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7080f4e8c238fd651e16a9e8eb7dfa6c

Breakin' The Rules - Lyrics - M.O.P.

Title: Breakin' The Rules
Artist: M.O.P.
Composer(s): Jamal Grinnage, Chris Martin, Eric Murry

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Yeah, check it out, y'all
Firing squad, nigga
(First family)
Yeah, firing squad, nigga
Check it out
(First family)

The name's Bill
(What up Bill?)
I'ma semi-automatic addict for real
Before you test me
Know I feel that the impact from a gat
Then it kicks back is sexy

I put you motherfuckers back on the rip
Tip and get the split in a nigga's shit
(Ain't nothin' changed)
I take you motherfuckers back to 6
And get to dumpin' off a clip

(You know the game)
You wanna test me?
(You gotta)
Let your time be, there's a long line of niggas
That's ready to wrong me

I put my foot down firmly
Stick the nose of my gun in some shit that don't concern me
And most dudes don't like the way I rap
The brown-skinned cat with a helluva fast step, yep
Berkuance
(Retreat)

I would never be disconnected from these streets
It's deep, as the and my
(Ocean, potion)
Is to to spit fire, nigga
(Know when)
The rules of the motherfucking game

Here it is ghetto music
(Rock that)
When it drop, if its proper
(Cop that)
'Cause some cats be fakin' the move
In other words, breakin' the rules
(Stop that)

We make ghetto music
(Rock that)
When it drop, if its proper
(Cop that)
'Cause some cats be fakin' the move
In other words, breakin' the rules

Make way, bitch, I'm coming through
I'm Fizzy Wo dog, who the fuck are you?
Y'all niggas be, listenin' to that false information
Here your [unverified]

Thugs know home team from the BK and move niggas
Run with them guns bust off like John Woo
Try to sabatoge the game, I'ma start somethin'
Try to sabatoge my name, I'ma start dumpin'

Why do fucking motherfuckers act like y'all don't be known?
Fizzy Wo, nigga, going for broke
So when you low, come and hit you with something that gigantic
Automatic and will make your ship sink like the Titanic

Now that I know, that you against me
And you click, you click, you against me too
Tell his man to tell his man, work out another master plan
'Cause I'ma blast a man, what?

Here it is ghetto music
(Rock that)
When it drop, if its proper
(Cop that)
'Cause some cats be fakin' the move
In other words, breakin' the rules
(Stop that)

We make ghetto music
(Rock that)
When it drop, if its proper
(Cop that)
'Cause some cats be fakin' the move
In other words, breakin' the rules

Allow me to express my deepest sympathy
To the family of the cat, that, was hit with the penalty
I begged him not to fuck with me
(I tried)
He didn't listen, so they found his ass missin'

Put my barrel in the back of his mouth
And knocked his head out do or dead, now
Cold, he actually thought I would fold
So I tore him a new hole, word to nigga's soul

When I jump off, or I dump off, about eight rounds
Holdin' my spot down, I'ma knock down, about eight clowns
Nigga, don't you ever fuck around
With the four-pound token

Bonified thugster Brownsville slugger
(What)
Ex-mugger, for your knucka, bucka, bucka
Bitch motherfucker
(Fuck ya)

You musta bought a [unverified] in the heart
Flinch and I'ma tear your ass apart
Come on, straight like that, nigga

Firing Squad, nigga, ha-ha-hah
Hundred years and runnin' yeah
One of my motherfuckin' men, Flipper the Ripper
Y'know what I'm sayin', my nigga City, Teflon
Firing Squad, nigga, for life, yeah

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6a1912963d0fcedd5c67a27c4e2d06cc

Bridging The Gap - Lyrics - Street's Disciple - Nas

Title: Bridging The Gap
Album: Street's Disciple
Artist: Nas
Composer(s): Salaam Remi, Mckinley Morganfield, Mel London, Olu Dara, Nasir Jones, Ellas Mcdaniel

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
The light is there, yeah yeah
See I come from Mississippi
I was young and runnin' wild
Ended up in New York City, where I had my first child
I named the boy Nasir, all the boys call him Nas
I told him as a youngster, he'll be the greatest man alive

Let's go, hey hey hey hey
Tribrary of these rap skits, styles I mastered
Many brothers snatched it up and tried to match it
But I'm still number one, everyday real
Speak what I want, I don't care what y'all feel
'Cause I'm my own master
My Pop told me, "Be your own boss keep integrity at every cost"
And his home was Natchez Mississippi
Did it like Miles and Dizzy, now we gettin' busy

Bridging The Gap from the blues, to jazz, to rap
The history of music on this track
Born in the game, discovered my father's music
Like Prince searchin' through boxes of Purple Rain
But my Minneapolis was The Bridge, home of the Superkids
Some are well-known, some doin' bids
I mighta ended up on the wrong side of the tracks
If Pops wouldn't've pulled me back an said yo

See I come from Mississippi
I was young and runnin' wild
Ended up in New York City, where I had my first child
I named the boy Nasir, all the boys call him Nas
I told him as a youngster, he'll be the greatest man alive
Greatest man alive, gre-gre-gre-gre-greatest man alive

The blues came from gospel, gospel from blues
Slaves are harmonizin' them ah's and ooh's
Old school, new school, know school rules
All these years I been voicin' my blues
I'm a artist from the start, hip-hop guided my heart
Graffiti on the wall, coulda ended in Spoffard, juvenile delinquent
But Pops gave me the right type'a tools to think with

Books to read, like X and stuff
'Cause the schools said the kids had dyslexia
In art class I was a compulsive sketcher of
Teachers in my homeroom, I drew pix to mess them up
'Cause none'a them would like my style
Read more books than the curriculum profile
Said, "Mr. Jones please come get your child
'Cause he's writin' mad poems and his verses are wild"

I was born in Mississippi
I was young and runnin' wild
Moved to New York City, where I had my first child
I named the boy Nasir, all the boys call him Nas
I told him as a youngster, he'll be the greatest man alive
Greatest man, the great-greatest man alive

Hey hey hey, my Poppa was not a Rollin' Stone
He been around the world blowin' his horn, still he came home
Then he got grown, changed his name to Olu
Come on, tell 'em 'bout all the places you gone to

I been to Saudi Arabia, Mozambique
Madagascar, Paris, Greece
The Middle Africa is where we lived
Better known as Queenbridge

Nas, Nas you don't stop
Olu Dara in the house, you don't stop
Muddy Waters' Howling Wolf you don't stop
From the Blues to Street Hop you don't stop
Tell 'em Pop

See I come from Mississippi
I was young and runnin' wild
Ended up in New York City, where I had my first child
I named the boy Nasir, all the boys call him Nas
I told him as a youngster, he'll be the greatest man alive
Greatest man alive, gre-gre-gre-gre-greatest man alive
Rest in peace Ray Charles

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ff8af3f2154fa6dd2192042a8872b693

Essays On Bdp-Ism - Lyrics - A Retrospective - Krs One

Title: Essays On Bdp-Ism
Album: A Retrospective
Artist: Krs One
Composer(s): Lawrence Parker

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
You've got the time
I've got the time
You've got the time

Am I supposed to stand here?
These bright lights, I'll probably get a tan here
Scott, turn up the master so I can hear, and talk faster
I'm the Blastmaster, 'cos I'm blasted
I know a lot of y'all are shocked that I've lasted
But Blastmaster is a subtitle, KRS-One is more vital
And more lethal and more vicious

As the suckers always say, "He just dissed us
He got a problem, yo, he's conceited"
I'm not conceited, they just couldn't beat it
'Cos when I'm in a club I like to mingle
Seconds later they're playin' that single
Loud as a collision and pumped up dramatically
So the people in the place will automatically
Time it, and dance right behind it

Those that have it on tape will rewind it
It's not surprising, we rock parties
Anywhere, anyone, anybody
Some sound shoddy, like cardboard
But I'm blessed, praise the Lord
You see I like to study, I like money
I like eatin' wheat bread with honey

But to none of these am I addicted
I like to remain free and unafflicted
With the sickness of attachment
The material road of entrapment
Those that walk this road become weak
They can't think, they can't speak

Unself-sufficient, 'cos they're leeching
I'm not dissin', I'm simply teachin'
Well if you notice, not once
Have I said Scott's name to gain fame
See it's a shame that they're blinded
If they had a piece of paper I'd sign it

That's called an autograph, this is called a class
I've only come to educate the mass
Of young people, to this there's no sequel
Just a message, be peaceful and loving, but not a sucker
And stay away from negative motherfuckers
They only pull you down with their hate
But wait, here's somethin' to meditate

You've got the time, I've got the time

Down ratin' statements you always seem to make
You never wanna create 'cos b-boys you don't affiliate
You're self-whipped 'cos you claim it's not a gift
To execute the rhyme on time without a shift
You only utter negativity, never productivity
For the b-boy talent or b-boy productivity

Yet when all the currency comes in tax free you wanna see me
My name is Kris and now you guessed this
I got X-ray vision and I'm lookin' through your game
It's the same, what a shame, now take aim on what I shall obtain
Absolute respect from you, con, 'cos now you know it
I'm Blastmaster KRS One, short for poet

I do not read the paper, I read the dictionary
'Cos nuclear destruction, yeah, AIDS just doesn't scare me
The girls be lookin' sweeter, the cops be lookin' meaner
Carryin' bigger gun, shoot the people for fun
If you could realize this you won't be called a toy
But yet a b-boy, and I know you'll enjoy

Just coolin' out without a doubt, livin' life a little different
Yeah, different, never innocent, with a little delligence
I am only 20, yet here's my present level
Just one of the Boogie Down Production crew rebels
Our reputation grows as the music gets vicious
I will succeed while you suckers make wishes

Time and time again I prove to be exciting
But time and time again you prove to be biting
I need no judge, no jury, no lawyers
With DJ Scott La Rock, better known as The Destroyer

You've got the time, I've got the time
You've got the time, I've got the time
You've got the time, I've got the time
You've got the time

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f30bec398f58e146b87b741cf55acd5f

Big Bad Mamma - Lyrics - Foxy Brown

Title: Big Bad Mamma
Artist: Foxy Brown
Composer(s): Samuel J Barnes, Shawn C Carter, Leon Haywood, Jean Claude Olivier

Lyric:
Playa haters, every minute wanna stop my dough
And every other minute wanna rock my flow
And every third minute y'all wanna swerve in it
Come quick like a virgin in it

So far came through this shit with no bra
Sheer shirt, shakin' my Na Na, this head hurt
Got 'em strung, let 'em know I'm like a Icee
For the best effect you gotta use your tongue

Find my g-spot, get me hot, I'm ill
Foxy, chocolate baby, got milk?
Shake that ass like you just don't care
'Cause y'all just rookies to begin

Work niggaz like you one of the live niggaz
Fly niggaz, known to handle a pie nigga
Chick in a off whit pearl six on the cellular
Gettin' them open like Girl 6, it's on

She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be
She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be

Player haters, every minute wanna see your clothes
Then every other minute wanna know what you drove
Then every third minute wanna know if the fur's rented
That's why I got no time for hoes

It's the Brown Fox, surround blocks, sound nice
See me dressed, D B S, brown rocks
See me just play the low pro
Got these rap chicks in a chokehold

Basically, you're wastin' your time hatin' me
I'm like one point five, gotta make it three
My name will forever ring
Got 'em screamin', "Damn, Fox" on everything

Hell yeah for the paper rip a hot draft
Only for the right dough, shorty got that?
Still in here, I'll be down when you're goin' broke
Ill Na Na Master Tracks like Tone and Poke and it's on

She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be
She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be

Playa haters, every minute wanna shit on wax
Then every other minute talk behind your back
And every third minute wanna rock you Venice and Bourbon
Nah, I ain't got time for that

I fakes no jacks, I got chips to gain
I'm like Bo Jack baby, I'm hip to the game
I know it well, rock Perotta over Chanel
A H class hoe with the H Findel

Rhyme deep in footwear, via Spiga
Like Aaliyah, one in a million
There's MC's in this rap shit comin' in illin' like I did
Laid the groundwork for five hits

Member when I told y'all, first week out
Shipped a half a mile, niggaz freaked out
Love yourself, put no one above thee
'Cause ain't nobody gon' fuck me like me, it's on

She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be
She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be

She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be
She's a bad mamma jamma
Just as Foxy as can be

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77fa0a229eb99fe4529de3f9b3c272fe

Gangstas - Lyrics - Unpredictable - Mystikal

Title: Gangstas
Album: Unpredictable
Artist: Mystikal
Composer(s): Craig D. Bazile, Calvin Cordazor Broadus, Craig Stephen Lawson, Percy Miller, Michael Tyler

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
No Limit Soldiers
(Ugh)
DPGC, gangstas
(Ha, ha)
Look here, you got three crazy muthafuckas

In the same place at the same time
(Yeah, Master P.)
You know this shit gon' be off the hook
(It's gon' be the wildest shit you ever heard)
For my bitches down south, southern hospitality
(Representin', ya heard me)

From the cold, hard streets of the LBC
To a duet with Mystikal and Master P
Real G's ship keys and shoot dice on their knees
And put pistols to the mouths of their enemies
Old country ass nigga with a gold in the front
Be the same muthafucka that get your bitch ass stomped

Underestimatin' hatin' got you knocked out cold
Tryin' to play my boy over, you was with your hoe
Them South niggas bangin' off the shit that we write
Punk niggas get killed, straight on sight
No Limit ain't no gimmick, it's tragic you know
So don't be meddlin' with my boy and my hoe
Lay low, hit the floor, I'm back

Yo P, take me to the streets, that's where my heart is at
You make 'em say ugh, I make 'em say beeyatch
Together we can flip the script and get grip
You got the crack, I got the bud sack
Mystikal, smack, you got the strap
Deep in that gangsta shit on a night like that
You blast me, I blast you back, beeyatch

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit

Got this fuckin' party poppin'
You cappin' and army braggin'
Gon' keep smugglin' in this game shit
Niggas ain't rappin' what you say about gangsta rappin'
You get killed forever, my nigga, every day
Where you get fucked up nigga is where you lay
Time again I tried to tell you

But you ain't wanna heard what I say
Damn leather dog bombin', done made a mistake
We made sound so good
([Unverified])
Keep that gangsta shit banging up and down your hood
'Cuz only real gangstas get down and to the bottom
Where y'all going, that much, we'll see right through ya

I'll out hustle ya, can't put up a fight 'cuz I out muscle ya
My really don't give a fuck, attitude got ya feelin' uncomfortable
I got that there, nigga you ain't saying shit
I'm colder than a brand new pair of Stan Smiths
Fresher than a whole box of green Altimos
But I got to blow your head off
And put bullet holes in your Girbauds

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit

B O U T we 'bout it
Real gangstas live muthafuckin' rowdy
And where you from is how you come
Where you be or you're at
Fool, watch your back for these gangstas in that black from
Long Beach to New Orleans
From every nigga in the hood to the penitentiary
Tryin' to survive on these streets

Slangin' dope 'cuz the kids gotta eat
Put it in a car or a plane, Grey Hound or a train
Sixty five when it came, eighty nine when it lay
I'm in love with miss mo mo, candy painted four
Twenty skirt with convertible, fuckin' polo
Bring the stylins of your talk, I mean real gangstas don't talk
Free your mind and refugee
Alive and turn your cheeks like Pras be

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit

We 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
We 'bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
Know what, we're 'bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit
...

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914e688ead50e0db7bfdd8c1b65977cd

Crash Your Crew - Lyrics - Genius

Title: Crash Your Crew
Artist: Genius
Composer(s): Gary Grice, R Jones, J Hithmon

Lyric:
Eh yo
Turn my shit up son too
Yo
You know exactly what I'm talking about
Y'know?

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

Left drink wine, from the purist grapevine
An' rhyme out the motherfucking mind
Metal shine, light blind, cut the mic line
Catch juice from the land fo
15 twenty inch woofers blow the manhole

Made the street crack, master feedback
Allah masters the beat back
The crowd look, while the stage shook
Carpenters made errors
Craftsmen had his head severed

Pyroclastic flow, heavy like tonnes of snow
Broke this rhymin' video
Verbal assassin, blastin'
Exploit your break through explosively
Echo chamber ate that rap up ferociously

Game controlled, optimize the input channel
I set it relatively high for those on a panel
CD with the durable, long-life cover
Very similar to no other

I seen a million tryin' to set a flow, thousands that show
Observe with the patience of watching a flower grow
But one individual thing forgot the Fri show
Now his pursuit is not for digress

A special note, thanks for being flank
While journalist's stay runnin' in front of tanks
Blew out first class, came back close cash
Ruff class, surfaces with no math

Military campaign
While shots cause information of the brain
Beat Crazy Eddie insane
Filled with pain, niggaz reign

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew
I'm gonna crash your crew

You never use those shoes
You can't have platinum authority inject me
Bitch I inject you, with the shit that made you say
Yo dirt doggchew-chew-chew

I'm gonna crash your crew

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b3afb72ea94fe7ce5aa7eb2f5085ab4d

Dimez - Lyrics - 613: Ashy to Classy - Field Mob

Title: Dimez
Album: 613: Ashy to Classy
Artist: Field Mob
Composer(s): Shawn Johnson, Darion Crawford, Emanuel Anderson

Lyric:
I'm lookin' for a made misses, not one of them lazy chickens
But one them on top of her game, paid bitches
I lay bitches and slay bitches, fast and free
So fuck that, I want a lady, I can give cash to be

A lover, makin' me say "Ungh" like Master P
And helpin' me out when I'm deep in a catastrophe
She has to be, top notch and full of class
Or rollin' a new drop top full a gas, to pull her ass

Gotta come correct and you better have your game tight
She ain't the type of girl you meet and then fuck the same night
She's a hot girl, one that you can smoke Jane with
But so jazzy, flashin' her diamonds on her bracelet

She don't say shit, keepin' our love on the d low
I trust and believe in her, like Shiraz, she's my hero
She don't need no zero's she want a jazzy dime nigga to kick it with
Splittin' it fifty, fifty down the middle

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

She had broke niggas and had tonight hoe niggas
Showboat poor niggas perpetratin' with no scrilla
She like more zippers, flow flippers and go getters
Hydro twistas, gold grillers to roll with

And you don't have to be a dope dealer or an old nigga
So don't go twistin' with a gold nigga
'Cause she's a boss bitch, a slim Diana Ross bitch
That you can floss with that don't cost shit

And anytime I want to I can toss it
And when I toss it, I ain't gon' lie, I raw dog it
'Cause she's so jazzy, every five minutes I stop and tell her
Bitches playa hate because they not, they jealous

Long micros with lots of cheddar
Givin' me more D's than Jay Z, she'll Roc A Fella
Classy, I gots to say it in a capella
So y'all rats can hear me clear, y'all gots to do better

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

If you feel that you's a jazzy nigga, you feel the same as me
Jazzy hoe's, I feel ya Jermaine Dupri
Because classy ain't the thing to be and yes it's plain to see
If you a skank you can't hang with me

No, I can't have no rat claimin' me, like a leech, clang to me
Or much, you should be shamed to be
Ridin' in the Chevy thing with me, it's not the place for them
Jazzy, classy girls I'm chasin' them, I wanna stay with them

And lay with them, passin' pussy's not the way for them
I'm lacin' 'em with more ice than a hockey stadium
She gets down with me, freakin' in any position
Fine as all our dough, no, don't need me no pigeon

I'm needin' a pinchin' to make sure that I'm not dreaming
Like Cash Money, when you see her it's like bling, bling
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

I need a jazzy bitch, a classy bitch
Walkin' and pass me the switch, flashin' her wrist
Where ya at ma'?
I'm lookin' for ya, so let a nigga spoil ya
As if I was your daddy and you was my daughter

What, I need a jazzy bitch, c'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
Sittin' on big heels, I need a jazzy bitch, c'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
With the micro braids, I need a jazzy bitch, I need a jazzy bitch
Yeah, you like to be paid, I need a jazzy bitch
C'mon, I need a jazzy bitch

Strike down your spine, I need a jazzy bitch, c'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
Color contacts in your eye, I need a jazzy bitch
C'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
Cute golds in your grill, I need a jazzy bitch, c'mon, I need a jazzy bitch

Lookin' good and need lacos, I need a jazzy bitch
C'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
Earring to your belly button, I need a jazzy bitch
C'mon, I need a jazzy bitch

Chewin' on, chewin' gum, I need a jazzy bitch
C'mon, I need a jazzy bitch
Whoa, whoa, c'mon, I need a jazzy bitch

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dade5992e32714cf6499f43323d96306

Dreams - Lyrics - Game

Title: Dreams
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Jerry Butler, Leon Huff, Kenneth Gamble, Kanye Omari West, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
An' I brought an' I brought an' I brought dreams
Dreams, dreams an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

I woke up out that coma two thousand an' one
'Bout the same time Dre dropped '2001'
Three years later, the album is done
Aftermath presents 'Nigga Witta Attitude, Volume One'

Rap critics politickin', wanna know the outcome
'Ready To Die', 'Reasonable Doubt' an' 'Doggystyle' in one
I feel like 'Pac after the Snoop Dogg trial was done
Dre behind that G series an' 'All Eyez On Me'

I watched the death of a dynasty, so I told Vibe Magazine
Workin' with Dr. Dre was a dream
I had visions of makin' a classic, then my world turned black
Like I was starin' out of Stevie Wonders glasses

It's kinda hard to imagine like Kanye West
Comin' back from his fatal accident to beatmakin' an' rappin'
But we the future, Whitney Houston told me that
An' it's gon' take more than a bullet in the heart to hold me back

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

I had dreams of fuckin' a R an'B bitch like Mya
When I saw that ass on the front of that King
Read the article in the magazine
She loved gangsters, loved nasty things
So I'm in the glass house havin' nasty dreams

Good girls never give it up
But anything is possible if 50 fucked Vivica
Hurdled life's obstacles, found my way through the maze
Then joy turned to pain like Frankie Beverly an' Maze

Used to dream of bein' 'Unsigned Hype'
'Til I was crushed by Dave Mays
Almost let my pen fall asleep on the page
Daydreamin' yesterday, dozin' off backstage
I thought I saw Eazy, talkin' to Jam Master Jay

So I walked over, heard Jam Master say
"It's a hard knock life, then you pass away"
They say sleep is the cousin of death, so my eyes wide open
'Cause a dream is kin to your last breath

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

The dream of Huey Newton, that's what I'm livin' through
The dream of Eric Wright, that's what I'm givin' you
Who walked through the White House without a business suit
Compton had jheri curl drippin' on Ronald Reagan's shoes

Gave Mike Lem my demo, came here to pay my dues
Started off with Whoo Kid, then I start blazin' Clue
It was all a dream like Big said it'd be
Don't sleep on me, homey, I bring nightmares to reality

Rap phenomenon, defyin' the rules of gravity
Studied all the classics, start revisin' my strategy
'Cause Marshall Mathers made it, Curtis Jackson made it
Head in the clouds, wonderin' where the hell Marvin Gaye went

How do I say this? I'm livin' for my son
But I can't figure out why I'm at my temple with this gun
Wake up to a Jesus, piece like a Catholic nun
The war to be a rap legend has just begun

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

This song is dedicated to Yetunde Price
The sister of Venus an' Serena Williams
Who was slain durin' a gang shootout in Compton
Sunday, September 14th, 2003, rest in peace

'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
An' I brought an' I brought an' I brought dreams
Dreams, dreams an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you

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843b01d34df816ee3e00c1fbd740e3ad

Dreams (Prodby Kanye West) - Lyrics - The Documentary - Game

Title: Dreams (Prodby Kanye West)
Album: The Documentary
Artist: Game
Composer(s): Jerry Butler, Leon Huff, Kenneth Gamble, Kanye Omari West, Jayceon Taylor

Lyric:
An' I brought an' I brought an' I brought dreams
Dreams, dreams an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

I woke up out that coma two thousand an' one
'Bout the same time Dre dropped '2001'
Three years later, the album is done
Aftermath presents 'Nigga Witta Attitude, Volume One'

Rap critics politickin', wanna know the outcome
'Ready To Die', 'Reasonable Doubt' an' 'Doggystyle' in one
I feel like 'Pac after the Snoop Dogg trial was done
Dre behind that G series an' 'All Eyez On Me'

I watched the death of a dynasty, so I told Vibe Magazine
Workin' with Dr. Dre was a dream
I had visions of makin' a classic, then my world turned black
Like I was starin' out of Stevie Wonders glasses

It's kinda hard to imagine like Kanye West
Comin' back from his fatal accident to beatmakin' an' rappin'
But we the future, Whitney Houston told me that
An' it's gon' take more than a bullet in the heart to hold me back

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

I had dreams of fuckin' a R an'B bitch like Mya
When I saw that ass on the front of that King
Read the article in the magazine
She loved gangsters, loved nasty things
So I'm in the glass house havin' nasty dreams

Good girls never give it up
But anything is possible if 50 fucked Vivica
Hurdled life's obstacles, found my way through the maze
Then joy turned to pain like Frankie Beverly an' Maze

Used to dream of bein' 'Unsigned Hype'
'Til I was crushed by Dave Mays
Almost let my pen fall asleep on the page
Daydreamin' yesterday, dozin' off backstage
I thought I saw Eazy, talkin' to Jam Master Jay

So I walked over, heard Jam Master say
"It's a hard knock life, then you pass away"
They say sleep is the cousin of death, so my eyes wide open
'Cause a dream is kin to your last breath

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

The dream of Huey Newton, that's what I'm livin' through
The dream of Eric Wright, that's what I'm givin' you
Who walked through the White House without a business suit
Compton had jheri curl drippin' on Ronald Reagan's shoes

Gave Mike Lem my demo, came here to pay my dues
Started off with Whoo Kid, then I start blazin' Clue
It was all a dream like Big said it'd be
Don't sleep on me, homey, I bring nightmares to reality

Rap phenomenon, defyin' the rules of gravity
Studied all the classics, start revisin' my strategy
'Cause Marshall Mathers made it, Curtis Jackson made it
Head in the clouds, wonderin' where the hell Marvin Gaye went

How do I say this? I'm livin' for my son
But I can't figure out why I'm at my temple with this gun
Wake up to a Jesus, piece like a Catholic nun
The war to be a rap legend has just begun

Russian an' this 40 ounce, lettin' the ink from my pen bleed
'Cause Martin Luther King had a dream
Aaliyah had a dream, Left Eye had a dream
So I reached out to Kanye an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you

This song is dedicated to Yetunde Price
The sister of Venus an' Serena Williams
Who was slain durin' a gang shootout in Compton
Sunday, September 14th, 2003, rest in peace

'Cause I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you
An' I brought an' I brought an' I brought dreams
Dreams, dreams an' I brought you all my dreams
'Cause I love you

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9dc38e09d8818a68173950141a8959f6

Ice Cream Man - Lyrics - Master P

Title: Ice Cream Man
Artist: Master P
Composer(s): Ken Franklin, Percy Miller

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Before jump in the game let's get one thing understood
If you sellin' that ice cream ya got to make sure it's good

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Hit the blocks dressed in white with some baggy girbaud's
A pocket full of stones, 3 G's and tryin' to lose these hoes
And the task coming sick 'cuz it's the first of the month
Fiends on my pager like I'm try to take these fools to lunch
Going crazy in the ghetto, try to kill me
My little homies lost life, y'all fools feel me

I pack a D 'cuz I'm paranoid at night time
Brother be pullin' jack, I'm in the hood bustin' gangsta rhyme
And still gotta watch my back in the hood gee
Like Spice-1 said those fools living like movies
Little kids get 'bout it, I mean my hood is rowdy
I'm try to make a dollar 50 before I'm up and out it

Before jump in the game let's get one thing understood
If you sellin' that ice cream ya got to make sure it's good

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Mr. Ice Cream Man or call me Master P
I got that 2 for 3, call me if you need some D
Me and my little brother Silkk we be ballin'
Got this thang sewed up from Texas to New Orleans
And cross the West Coast where fools get wicked
I'm in the gang hell a D I'm try to score a meal ticket
Break fiends on boulders, I means Al soda
Duckin' the task and try to hide from the rollers

And hangin' with Tru soldiers, my tru click, we true to this
Tru 2 da G A M E fools, we ain't new to this
And in the hood I got ice cream cones, and if fiends
Want a lick nothing for free that gonna cost you 20 bones
For y'all ballers that won't wait call on my pager
I got half gallon of milk fool I got 31 flavor
Mr. I C E, M A N is on the scene
You betta have my fetti if you don't have my ice cream

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)

Before jump in the game lets get one thing understood
If you sellin' that ice cream ya got to make sure it's good

Now let's see who owes me cash
I got's to go to grind and gets mine
Fools be try to check it, wreck it, but it's about that time
See who owes me, pay me now, don't pay me later, cricket alligators
Try to scheme off the top, but they be like playa haters

I got that 2 for 3, 4 for 5 got them rocks
But killers I got that 2 for 3, 4 for 5, I'm maxin' glocks
You can come and check my grip, you can come and check this
But I'm on that triple gold 9 thriller L E X U S

Master P in the 500 S E L with a triple beam
You scream, I scream, but the fiends screaming for ice cream

Before jump in the game let's get one thing understood
If you sellin' that ice cream ya got to make sure it's good

Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Mr. Ice Cream Man
(Mr. Ice Cream Man)
Master P the Ice Cream Man

Y'all fools betta recognize I'm the real Ice Cream Man
Mr. Ice Cream Man
Master P or call me the Ice Cream Man

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Z - Imaginary Player - Lyrics - Vol. 1: In My Lifetime - Jay

Title: Z - Imaginary Player
Album: Vol. 1: In My Lifetime
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Angela Winbush, Davin Vanderpool, Rene Moore, Sean Carter

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Lyric:
Yeah, I mean like
I gotta be like the pioneer to this shit, you know
I was popping that Cristal
When all y'all niggaz thought it was beer and shit, you know
Wearing that platinum shit
When all y'all chicks thought it was silver and shit
I got to be the pioneer of this shit
Bottom line
I'm going to show you how to do it, check it

I spit that other shit, that's the nice motherfucker shit
Fed time follow me around, deep cover shit nigga
You beer money, I'm all year money
I'm popping, you ain't got to count it, it's all there money
I never change money 'cause niggas got strange money
Knocked up, marked up, fucked up in the game money
I got bail money, XXL money
You got flash now, one time we'll reveal money

I spit the hottest shit, you need it I got it shit
That down South Master P, 'bout It 'bout it shit
I got blood money, straight up thug money
That brown paper bag under your mattress drug money
You got show dough, little to no dough
Sell a bunch of records and you still owe dough
I got 900 and 96 plus 4 more dough
You crazy, you full gazy, and loco with dough papo

Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players

And now you got these young cats acting like they slung cats
All in they dumb rap, talking about how they funds stack
When I see 'em in the street, I don't see none of that
Bad playboy, where the fuck is the Hummer at?
Where is all the ice with all the platinum under that?
Those ain't Rolex diamonds, what the fuck you done to that?
Y'all rapping-ass niggas, y'all funny to me
You're selling records, being you but still you want to be me

I guess for every buck you make it's like a hundred for me
And still you running around thinking you got something on me
But I done did it and y'all want to take my flow, and run with it
That's cool, I was the first one with it
Original, Jiggas the future flow digital
Still busting a gat when she gets critical
Sit it down, I don't want y'all to get it confused
I rip it down, like I ain't got nothing to lose

Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players

Groupies I leave them all fucked, niggas, all struck
Your single was 99 cents, mines was 4 bucks
Last year, when niggas thought it was all up
But this year I've done it again, Jigga! What the fuck?
Nigga stop whining, Jigga, still shining
Niggas kept complaining so I copped more diamonds
Rock more Versace, ain't nothing sweet
I still throw tree in your body, fleeing the party

Y'all can't go with me, nope, flow with me
Bet 50, not dollars either I brought some dough with me
I flow like the 5 series, in various areas
And blow holes in your weak niggas theories
It's funny how one verse can fuck up the game
You bought a 4.0 you better get your change
Ain't no platinum in those Cartiers, switch your frame
Ain't no manicures on board, then switch your plane

Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players
Imaginary players

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