Time To Shine - Lyrics - Lil' Kim

Title: Time To Shine
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): Timothy P Patterson, Ned Doheny, Kimberly Jones, Hamish Stuart, Rodolfo Franklin

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Lyric:
Uhh Junior Mafia
Peace to all originals
Peace to all those gone
Yeah Junior Mafia the click, whoo

Blessed by the God, so I be the Earth's
Queen Bee Bitch, Poppa keep me rich
In gun tottin', keep floatin' in them automobiles
Pack with steel, engines filled with Benjamins

I got half a mill stashed in the boat station
For womanizers and 'em hand full of hoes that hate me
But lately, it seems people make the world go round
From A to Z, I break 'em down alphabetically

Pethtically, I puts the pressure
In ya Jones that you fall like a Motorol burner
Flip ya jacks and ya snitch ass back, to the cell of your block
H D M lock and I wish you would stop

All that baulin', cryin', lyin'
'Cause this black Queen is shinin'
You didn't know I was Lieutenant
Bitch, well that's primary

You just a secondary secretary, envy against me
Because I stay laced in Ellen Tracey, Dolce & Gabanna
And people love me for my style, my personal
Niggas got wow and once I have my chow
Bet I just sit back and enjoy, the optimism given from a girl to a boy
What's it all about

It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on
It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on
Yeah Junior Mafia click, yeah Junior Mafia

We all know what it means to be broke
Breaking niggaz off for some ends and weed smoke
Some like to mix it with coke
Trees I like 'em fine, straight up marijuin'

And I'm put the lent in ya dents
Then you'll be stressed out with no dollars and no cents
Dressed in gear from last year, that you bought
Before you quit ya job at the airport

Thinkin' you gon' make a mill from this rap game
But you labeled as a lame and it's a damn shame
No fame, no name, show no shame
Who's to blame, tore up in ya frame

Now you wanna lick a shot 'cause you ain't got
Get props, runnin' up in weed spots
Just a little gets to make game
So you put the steam and the jewels in the stash

Quick fast, get mad
'Cause ya man's in my whip, honey button ya lip
'Cause my click is too dense, it's all about the guns, the ones
Just another day that the Earth's used the Suns

It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on
It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on

Hey baby it's about time to shine we're movin' on
Keep it going strong, can't stop what's going on
Hey baby it's about time to shine we're movin' on
Keep it going strong, can't stop what's going on

It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on
It's my time to shine, been down for much too long
I've gotta get mine, J M and Kim keep movin' on

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883e14cb8ad1b52c219f0095fd5d5913

Player'S Anthem - Lyrics - Junior M.A.F.I.A

Title: Player'S Anthem
Artist: Junior M.A.F.I.A
Composer(s): Christopher Wallace, Clark Kent, Lottie M Wiggins, James Kowan Lloyd, R Walters, D Davies, Harvey Fuqua, Kimberly Jones

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

Lyric:
Niggaz bitches
Uhh

Niggaz Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
Bitches Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
"This type of shit it happens everyday"

Check it out, uhh
Now who smoke more blunts than a little bit?
What are you a idiot?
Listen to the lyrics I spit like M1's
Got mad guns up in the cabin
Cause Cease ain't the one for the dibbin and dabbin shit
I make it happen, you got your ass caught
All you saw was fire, from the Honda Passport
Or the M.P., what if you see, then I miss ya
I blow up spots like little sisters
G'wan grit ya teeth, g'wan bite ya nails to the cuticles
Like Murray, my killings, be the most beautiful
Junior M.A.F.I.A. click, thick like Luke dancers
Niggaz grab your gats, bitches take a glance at
The little one, pullin over in the Land Rover
Playin Big Willie style with a chaffeur, yaknahmean?
Stack the green, read all between the lines
A nigga act up, makes the bastard hard to find

Niggaz Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
Bitches Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
"This type of shit it happens everyday"

Niggaz Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
Bitches Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
"This type of shit it happens everyday"

(How ya livin Biggie Smalls?) I'm surrounded by criminals
Heavy rollers even the sheisty individuals
Smokin skunk and mad Phillies
Beatin down Billy Badasses, cracks in stacks and masses
If robbery's a class, bet I pass it
Shit get drastic, I'm buryin ya bastards
Big Poppa never softenin
Take you to the church, rob the preacher for the offerin
Leave the fucker coughin up blood, and his pockets like rabbit ears
Covered the wife, kleenex for the kid's tears
Versace wear, Moschino on my bitches
She whippin my ride, countin my one's, thinkin I'm richest
Just the way players play, all day everyday
I don't know what else to say
I've been robbin niggaz since Run and them was singin 'Here We Go'
Snatchin ropes at the Roxie homeboy you didn't know
My flow, detrimental to your health
Usually roll for self, I have son ridin shotgun
My mind's my nine, my pen's my Mac-10
My target, all you wack niggaz who started rappin
Junior M.A.F.I.A. steelo, niggaz know the half
Caviar for breakfast, champagne bubble baths
Runnin up in pretty bitches constantly
The Smalls bitch, who the fuck it was supposed to be?

Niggaz Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
Bitches Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
"This type of shit it happens everyday"

Niggaz Grab your dick if you love hip-hop
Bitches Rub your titties if you love Big Poppa
Gotcha, open off the words I say because
"This type of shit it happens everyday"

I used to pack Macs in Cadillacs
Now I pimp gats in the Ac's, watch my niggaz backs
Nines in the stores, glocks in the bags
Maxin mini markets, gettin money with the Arabs
No question, confession, yes it's the lyrical
Bitches squeeze your tits, niggaz grab your genitals
Proteins and minerals, excluse subliminals
Big Momma shoots the game to all you Willies and criminals
I kick the rilli with my peeps all day
325'S roll by with the windows down halfway
D-K-N-Y, oh my, I'm jiggy
It's all about the Smalls and my fuckin nigga Biggie
Bitches love the way I bust a rhyme
Cause they all in line screamin one more time
Niggaz, grab your dicks if you love hip-hop
Bitches rub-a-dub in the back of the club, straight up

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9c665998d7639488424cb15bd89452f8

Hit Em Up - Lyrics - 2pac

Title: Hit Em Up
Artist: 2pac
Composer(s): Johnny Jackson, Dennis Lambert, Franne Golde, Duane S Hitchings, Tupac Shakur

Lyric:
Well, come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, wassup nigga?

First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim
West side when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa but, I fucked your wife
We bust on bad boys, niggas fuck for life

Plus, Puffy tryin' to see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie smalls and junior mafia, some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning keep on busting at them fools

You know the rules, Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up, see yah in pieces, now be deceased
Little Kim, don't fuck with real ass G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace

I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the west side ride the night
Bad boys murdered on wax and kill
Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
You know what you see

Grab your glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]

Get out the way yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pacs the mac and let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right for setting up traps

Little accident murderers and I ain't never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank, your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, 'cause, I'ma slam your ass in a pang

Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block, I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking junior mafia in front of yah nigga
With the ready power tucked in my guess
Under my EddieBower, tour clout petty sour
I push packages every hour, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open, tryin' to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping smoking dope

It's like a Shermine, niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn muthafucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me
All you niggas living bummy, while you fucking with me

I'm a self made millionaire thug, livin' out of prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house

Now, it's all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
Now, I'm back to set the record straight with my AK
I'm still the thug that you love to hate, muthafucka, I'll hit 'em up

I'm from New Jers, where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come, we bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio, Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees copin' pleas with these

Little Kim is yah, choked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the fuck? Is you stupid? Take money
Crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block

With fifteen shot, cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake ass East Coast props, brainstormed and locked

You'se a B writer, Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So fill the alazhay with a chaser
'Bout to get murdered for the paper
E D I, I mean post the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke
Toting smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Thug life, niggas better be known, be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking, no need for hoping
It's a battle lost, I got 'em crossed
As soon as the funk is bopping off, nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

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a12dc46d533f16d36359bc25c1376769

Hit Em Up Part 2 - Lyrics - 2pac

Title: Hit Em Up Part 2
Artist: 2pac
Composer(s): Johnny Jackson, Dennis Lambert, Franne Golde, Duane S Hitchings, Tupac Shakur

Lyric:
Well, come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, wassup nigga?

First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim
West side when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa but, I fucked your wife
We bust on bad boys, niggas fuck for life

Plus, Puffy tryin' to see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie smalls and junior mafia, some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning keep on busting at them fools

You know the rules, Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up, see yah in pieces, now be deceased
Little Kim, don't fuck with real ass G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace

I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the west side ride the night
Bad boys murdered on wax and kill
Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
You know what you see

Grab your glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]

Get out the way yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pacs the mac and let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right for setting up traps

Little accident murderers and I ain't never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank, your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, 'cause, I'ma slam your ass in a pang

Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block, I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking junior mafia in front of yah nigga
With the ready power tucked in my guess
Under my EddieBower, tour clout petty sour
I push packages every hour, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open, tryin' to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping smoking dope

It's like a Shermine, niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn muthafucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me
All you niggas living bummy, while you fucking with me

I'm a self made millionaire thug, livin' out of prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house

Now, it's all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
Now, I'm back to set the record straight with my AK
I'm still the thug that you love to hate, muthafucka, I'll hit 'em up

I'm from New Jers, where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come, we bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio, Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees copin' pleas with these

Little Kim is yah, choked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the fuck? Is you stupid? Take money
Crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block

With fifteen shot, cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake ass East Coast props, brainstormed and locked

You'se a B writer, Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So fill the alazhay with a chaser
'Bout to get murdered for the paper
E D I, I mean post the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke
Toting smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Thug life, niggas better be known, be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking, no need for hoping
It's a battle lost, I got 'em crossed
As soon as the funk is bopping off, nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

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de2f5b5c15125c806e8bd2b952a7d3da

Hit 'Em Up - Outlawz - Lyrics - 2Pac- Greatest Hits - 2pac

Title: Hit 'Em Up - Outlawz
Album: 2Pac- Greatest Hits
Artist: 2pac
Composer(s): Johnny Jackson, Dennis Lambert, Franne Golde, Duane S Hitchings, Tupac Shakur

Lyric:
Well, come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, take money
Come on, come on, wassup nigga?

First off, fuck your bitch and the click you claim
West side when we ride, come equipped with game
You claim to be a playa but, I fucked your wife
We bust on bad boys, niggas fuck for life

Plus, Puffy tryin' to see me weak, hearts I rip
Biggie smalls and junior mafia, some mark ass bitches
We keep on coming while we running for yah jewels
Steady gunning keep on busting at them fools

You know the rules, Little Ceasar go ask you homie how I'll leave yah
Cut your young ass up, see yah in pieces, now be deceased
Little Kim, don't fuck with real ass G's
Quick to snatch your ugly ass off the streets, so fuck peace

I'll let them niggas know it's on for life
Don't let the west side ride the night
Bad boys murdered on wax and kill
Fuck with me and get your caps peeled
You know what you see

Grab your glocks when you see 2Pac
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]

Get out the way yo, get out the way, yo
Biggie Smalls just got dropped
Little move pacs the mac and let me hit 'em in his back
Frank White needs to get spanked right for setting up traps

Little accident murderers and I ain't never heard of yah
Poise less gats attack when I'm serving yah
Spank the shank, your whole style when I gank
Guard your rank, 'cause, I'ma slam your ass in a pang

Puffy weaker than a fuckin' block, I'm running through nigga
And I'm smoking junior mafia in front of yah nigga
With the ready power tucked in my guess
Under my EddieBower, tour clout petty sour
I push packages every hour, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Call the cops when you see 2Pac
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel
This ain't no freestyle battle, all you niggas getting killed
With your mouths open, tryin' to come up off of me
You and the clouds hoping smoking dope

It's like a Shermine, niggas think they learned to fly
But they burn muthafucka you deserve to die
Talking about you getting money, but it's funny to me
All you niggas living bummy, while you fucking with me

I'm a self made millionaire thug, livin' out of prison, pistols in the air
Biggie, remember when I use to let you sleep on the couch
And beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house

Now, it's all about Versace, you copied my style
Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled
Now, I'm back to set the record straight with my AK
I'm still the thug that you love to hate, muthafucka, I'll hit 'em up

I'm from New Jers, where plenty of murder occurs
No points to come, we bring drama to all you herds
Now go check the scenerio, Little Ceas'
I'll bring you fake G's to yah knees copin' pleas with these

Little Kim is yah, choked up or doped up
Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up
What the fuck? Is you stupid? Take money
Crash and mash through Brooklyn
With my click looting, shooting, and polluting your block

With fifteen shot, cocked glock to your knot
Outlaw mafia click moving up another notch
And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped
And all your fake ass East Coast props, brainstormed and locked

You'se a B writer, Pac style taker
I'll tell you to face, you ain't nothing shit but a faker
So fill the alazhay with a chaser
'Bout to get murdered for the paper
E D I, I mean post the scene of the caper
Like a loc, with little Ceas' in a choke
Toting smoke, we ain't no muthafuckin' joke

Thug life, niggas better be known, be approaching
In the wide open, gun smoking, no need for hoping
It's a battle lost, I got 'em crossed
As soon as the funk is bopping off, nigga, I hit 'em up

[Incomprehensible]
Who shot me, but your punks didn't finish
Now, you 'bout to feel the wrath of a menace
Nigga, I hit 'em up

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dfab351936f35627ceae66d86c44d10d

Get Money - Lyrics - Junior M.A.F.I.A

Title: Get Money
Artist: Junior M.A.F.I.A
Composer(s): Christopher Wallace, Sylvia Striplin, Roy Ayers, James Bedford, Kimberly Jones

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

Lyric:
Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money
Get money

You wanna sip mo' on my living room flo'
Play Nintendo with cease a Leo
Pick up my phone say "Poppa not home"
Sex all night mad head in the morn'

Spin my V, smoke all my weed
Tattoo on sayin' B I G, now check it
You wanna be my main squeeze baby
Don'tcha, you wanna gimme what I need baby

Won'tcha, picture life as my wife just think
Full length mink, fat X and O links
Bracelets to match, conversation was all that
Showed you the safe combinations and all that

Guess you could say you's the one I trusted
Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard?
Got hot, you sent feds to my spot
Took me to court, tried to take all I got

'Nother intricate plot, the bitch said, "I raped her"
Damn, why she wanna stick me for my paper?
My mo-sci-no, my ver-sa-ce hottie
Come to find out, you was everybody

You knew about me, the fake ID
Cases in Virginia, body in D.C
Woe, oh is me, that's what I get for trickin'
Pay my own bail, commence to kickin'

Lick in the door, wavin' the four-four
All you heard was, poppa don't hit me no more
Disrespect my click, my imperial
Fuck around and made her milk box material
You feel me? suckin' , runnin' your lips
'Cause of you, I'm on some real

Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money

Betta grab a seat grab on your as this gets deep
Deeper than the of a six feet
Stiff feel sweet in this little petite
Young from the street, guaranteed to stay down
Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound
Now I'm Billboard now, press to hit it

Play me like a chicken, thinkin' I'm pressed to get it
Rather do the killin' than the stick up jooks
Or rather count a million while you eat my
Push me to the limit get my feelings in it
Get me open while I'm cummin' down your throat

You wanna be my main squeeze
Don'tcha, you wanna lick between my knees
Don'tcha wanna see me whippin' your three down the Ave
Blow up spots on because I'm mad

Break up affairs lick shots in the air
You get vexed, and start swingin' everywhere
Me shifty now you wanna pistol whip me?
Pull out your nine, while I cock on mine

Yeah what? I ain't got time for this
So what? I'm not tryin' to hear that
Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits
Adia Vinadini and Chanel lime boots

Things that make up, for all the games and the lies
Hallmark cards, sayin, "I apologize"
Is you with me how could you ever deceive me?
But payback's a, believe me
Naw I ain't gay this ain't no flow
Just a little somethin', to let you motherfucker know

Get money
Get money
Get money
...

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6b5b6572af8478994c9be89189396c1b

Crush On You - Lyrics - Hardcore - Lil' Kim

Title: Crush On You
Album: Hardcore
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): James Lloyd, Christopher Wallace, Andreao Shaunee Heard, Jeff Lorber

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

Lyric:
Undeas
Lil' Ceasar
The bitch pleaser
Uhh uh, check it

Yo I be buyin' 'em V's, so all my girls be eyein' Cease
Comin' backstage, dyin' to get pleased
You got me, I rock thee, Versace and linen
While you stop your grinnin' wit bunch of foxy women
Why you speed ball with cards, that's invalid
I get clothes, custom made, from a stylist
Cruise in my Lexus Land with no mileage
While you walk the street until your feet get calloused

Take you on a natural high, like a pilot
It be all good, toss your clothes like a salad
When it's all over put your vote in my ballot
It's my diner, I'm Mel, and you're Alice
Spend a night, in Lil' Cease palace
It be all good as long as you don't act childish
While you standin' there with the Christ in your cup
If worse come to worse keep this on the hush, uhh

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

While you tryin' to catch Sea Breeze, I'm in the PV's
All chrome D3's, decked out TV's
CD's with crazy bass, keep my lady laced
Don't be fooled by the baby face
I hope ya not, 'cause your thighs got me hot
Only one plan, that's to rise to the top
I told you before, when I first pursued
I want a interlude, in the nude

Or we tastin' like food when we get in the mood
Listen girlfriend, we don't mean to be rude
But anything I touch come straight to the rear
I take chicken heads like the Playmate Of The Year
'Cause when I first met her, she had the Lex and the 'tegra
Game real good, sex was even better
I got it for the cheddar once I hit it in the sack
'Cause I'm Cease A.K.A. Long Dick from the back

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

Yo shorty won't you go get a bag of the lethal
I'll be right here just chillin' witcha people
You know Junior M.A.F.I.A. was just a preview
I know I had you open, so why I'ma leave you
Especially when I know yo' man is fee-ble
It's Cease Degenaro, you know how we do
My game is tight, we do the same every night
I'm smooth as the words that come from Frank White

You messin' with city kings with glassy rings
That's gonna show you good time pretty thing
'Cause you was spotted, in the club lookin' exotic
By somebody, short, dark and chocolate
You got it? Any plans to tape yo we stop it
Junior M.A.F.I.A., yeah we all about a profit
I'm the right dude to get you in the nice mood
Flossin' rocks the size of ice cubes

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

I know you seen me on the video
(True)
I know you heard me on the radio
(True)
But you still don't pay me no attention
Listenin' to what your girlfriends mention

He's a slut, he's a hoe, he's a freak
Got a different girl every day of the week
It's cool, not tryin' to put a rush on you
I had to let you know that I got a crush on you

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e3565123f4a2a0c30304666d56548e28

Big Poppa - Lyrics - Mindless Self Indulgence

Title: Big Poppa
Artist: Mindless Self Indulgence
Composer(s): Christopher Wallace, O'Kelly Isley, Chris Jasper, Ernie Isley, Ronald Isley, Rudolph Isley, Marvin Isley

Lyric:
Uh uh, check it out, uh, Junior Mafia uh
I like this, yeah, uh, yeah, 94

To all the ladies in the place with style and grace
Allow me to lace these lyrical duches in your bushes
Who rock grooves and make moves with all the mommies
The back of the club, sippin' moet, is where you'll find me

The back of the club, mackin' ***, my crew's behind me
Mad question askin', *** passin', music blastin', but I just can't quit
Because one of these honies biggie gotta creep with

Sleep with, keep the ep a secret why not
Why blow up my spot 'cause we both got caught
Now check it, I got more mack than Craig and in the bed
Believe me sweety I got enough to feed the needy

No need to be greedy I got mad friends with Benz's
C notes by the layers, true da life players
Jump in the Rover and come over
Tell your friends jump in the GS-3, I got the *** by the tree

I love it when you call me big poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if youse a true player
I love it when you call me big poppa
To the honies gettin' money playin' fellas like dummies
I love it when you call me big poppa
If you got a *** up in your waist please don't shoot up the place, why?
'Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be havin' my baby, baby, uh

Straight up honey really I'm askin'
Most of these fellas think they be mackin' but they be actin'
Who they attractin' with that line, "What's your name, what's your sign?"
Soon as he buy that wine I just creep up from behind

And ask what your interests are, "Who you be with?"
Things to make you smile, what numbers to dial
You gon' be here for a while, I'm gon' go call my crew
You go call your crew, we can rendezvous at the bar around two

Plans to leave, throw the keys to lil' cease
Pull the truck up, front and roll up the next blunt
So we can steam on the way to the telly go fill my belly
A T bone steak, cheese eggs and Welch's grape

Conversate for a few 'cause in a few, we gon' do
What we came to do, ain't that right boo
Forget the telly we just go to the crib
And watch a movie in the Jacuzzi Smoke, *** while you do me

I love it when you call me big poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if youse a true player
I love it when you call me big poppa
To the honies gettin' money playin' fellas like dummies
I love it when you call me big poppa
If you got a *** up in your waist please don't shoot up the place, why?
'Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be havin' my baby, baby, uh

How ya livin' Biggie Smallz?
In mansion and Benz's, givin' ends to my friends and it feels stupendous
Tremendous cream, get a dollar and a dream
Still tote gats strapped with infrared beams

Choppin' O's, smokin' lye an' optimo's
Money *** and clothes all a brother knows a foolish pleasure, whatever
I had to find the buried treasure, so grams I had to measure

However living better now Gucci sweater now
Drop top BM's I'm the man girlfriend
Honey check it, tell your friends, to get with my friends
And we could be friends, *** we can do this every weekend
Aight? Is that aight with you? Yeah, keep bangin'

I love it when you call me big poppa
Throw your hands in the air, if youse a true player
I love it when you call me big poppa
To the honies gettin' money playin' fellas like dummies
I love it when you call me big poppa
If you got a *** up in your waist please don't shoot up the place, why?
'Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be havin' my baby, baby, uh

Uh, check it out, uh, Puff Daddy, Biggie Smalls
Junior Mafia, represent baby baby, uh

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b46173860f3680f8f7cc762c1e3330b6

Back Stabbers - Lyrics - Junior M.A.F.I.A

Title: Back Stabbers
Artist: Junior M.A.F.I.A
Composer(s): Little Kim Gene Mcfadden, Daddy-O Leon Huff, John Whitehead

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

Lyric:
Smile in your face, yeah back stabbers

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

The buda got my brain seein' my own my blood stains
Dental records checkin' my remains, it's hard to explain
First I see 'em then I don't, they disappear
First she tried to slit my throat, now she ain't there

I'm seein' bitches in the mirrors behind me
But when I turn around, they hard to find
A little bit of weed and a little bit of greed
Make a bitch wanna choke me till I bleed

Now watch a bitch breathe from dum-dums
That some young bum had to bust just for wreck
Earn some self-respect, now should I tote a fo' pound
'Cause a clown wants my autograph
Broken off that hash I think he wants my cash

The lexus and rings, give a sex simple and plain
But these bitches is mad an' they niggas is bad
So they scheme on a cream, you know
Fuck the hoes, bitches is detrimental, the guns is essential

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

I'm havin' re-occurin' dreams bitches they want my cream
They wanna be lieutenant so it seems, I can't sleep
I see an image that keeps movin' round and round my bed
The shadow stops, points a glock to my fuckin' head

I grab my pillow,crack the back window
Pull out the tre-8, bust three times at the gate
Lord have mercy, the Devil tryin' to curse me
I keeps seein' shit that wasn't there in the first

See bitches be livin' mad fad they fuck my man
Steal out my crib, then come an' try an' shake my hand
Yeah, man, breakin' you down one time
I packs that shit for your ass, chronic for your mind

I keeps it real on all you bitches, I wish you keep your mind
Off my motherfuckin' riches
Bitches, I'm tired of all you hos beggin' me for clothes
Bank rolls is all I knows, that shit is dead chicken-head

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

The mornin's finally here,damn, what should I wear?
Time to get dressed and do my hair,once again it's on
Somebody's knockin' at my door, but when I walk across the floor
Just hope it up,the motherfucker's gone

I'm hearin' voices in the back of my mind
Better grab my 2, 'cause this fool might get outta line
I guess it's time to test this bullet-proof dress
From puttin' holes up in my chest

I'm lookin' through the peep-hole to recognise the face
I see three bitches and still I got to play it safe
I hope my dress come in handy but when I open the door
Three little girls sellin' candy, ya see bitches is jealous

Of little Kim because my click is thicker than the rest of them
All I wanna do is be rich and stay that bitch
Clock dough on the law, you know

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

They smile in your face
All the time they wanna take your place
The back stabbers
(Back stabbers)

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edacee3e616007f3245eb388f198a3f9

Dead Wrong (Remix) - Lyrics - Eminem

Title: Dead Wrong (Remix)
Artist: Eminem
Composer(s): Osten Harvey, Christopher Wallace, Marshall Mathers, Al Green

Lyric:
Bad Boy baby, yeah, yeah
Junior M.A.F.I.A., yeah
Yeah, B.I.G. 2000
B.I.G. 2000 born again, c'mon

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke
Throw you in a choke, gun smoke, gun smoke
Biggie Smalls for mayor, the rap slayer
The hooker layer, mother*** say your prayers

Hail Mary full of grace, smack the *** in the face
Take her Gucci bag and the North Face
Off her back, jab her if she act
Funny with the money, oh you got me mistaken honey

I don't wanna rape ya, I just want the paper
The Visa, kapeesha? I'm out like, 'The Vapors'
Who's the one you call Mr. Macho, the head honcho
Swift fist like Camacho, I got so

Much style I should be down wit the Stylistics
Make up to break up n***** need to wake up
Smell the Indonesia, beat you to a seizure
Then *** your moms, hit the skins till amnesia

She don't remember ***, just the two hits
Her hittin' the floor and me hittin' the ***
Suckin' on the ***, had the hooker beggin' for the ***
And your moms ain't ugly love, my *** got rock quick

I guess I was a combination of House of Pain and Bobby Brown
I was 'Humpin' Around' and 'Jump-in Around'
Jacked her then I asked her who's the man, she said, ?B.I.G.?
Then I *** in her E Y E

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

When I get ***, I like to spread the blood like mustard
Trust it, my hardcore rain leaves you rusted
Move over Lucifer, I'm more ruthless, huh
Leave your toothless, you'll kibitz, I'll flip it

Tears don't affect me, I hit 'em with the *** G
Disrespect me, my potency is deadly
*** *** ***, no ifs, ands or maybes
Hit mummy in the tummy if the hooker plays a dummy

Slit the wrist of little sis after she sucked the ***
I stabbed her brother with the icepick
Because he wanted me to *** him from the back
But Smalls don't get down like that

Got your father hidin' in a room, *** him with the broom
Slit him down the back and threw salt in the wound
Who you think you're dealin' with?
Anybody step into my path is *** feelin' it

Hardcore, I got it sucked like a ***
Stab ya till you're gushy, so please don't push me
I'm using rubbers so they won't trace the semen
The black demon, got the little hookers screamin'
Because you know I love it young, fresh and green
With no hair in between, know what I mean?

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

There's several different levels to Devil worshippin' horse's heads
Human sacrifices, cannibalism, candles and exorcism
Animals havin' sex with 'em, camels, mammals and rabbits
But I don't get into that, I kick the habit

I just beat you to death with weapons that eat through the flesh
And I never eat you unless the ***, meat looks fresh
I got a lion in my pocket, I'm lyin', I got a *** in my pocket
And baby I'm just, dyin' to cock him, he's ready for war, I'm ready for war

I got machetes and swords for any *** that said he was raw
My uz' as, heavy as yours, yeah you met me before
I just didn't have as large an arsenal of weapons before
Marshall will step in the door, I lay your head on the floor

With your body spread on the bedspread, red on the wall
Red on the ceilin', red on the floor, get a new ***
Met on the second, wet on the third, then she's dead on the fourth
I'm dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

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0b2235abee2030b53f3b5a435341ff90

Love Me - Lyrics - Room 112 - 112

Title: Love Me
Album: Room 112
Artist: 112
Composer(s): Quinnes Parker, Leslie Brathwaite, Michael Keith, Marvin E Scandrick, Mason Betha, Daron Tavaris Jones, Lamont M Maxwell, Luther Vandross

Lyric:
Do that Puff Daddy shit, son
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, what, what, what

ATL, Harlem World, ATL
ATL, Harlem World, ATL
112, Harlem World, 112

112, Harlem World, 112
Harlem World, ATL, 112
112, Harlem World, ATL

Yeah, kid you don't stop
We won't stop, you don't stop
Come on

Baby whenever I'm with you
No one else exists but you
'Cuz you're the one for me

Every time that we're apart
You're always in my heart
And there you'll always be

Baby don't go
Your love's so special
Can't let me go now

If I did wrong, I'm sorry
No other love
Is for me, oh yeah

Love me, hold me
Squeeze me
(Love me, never let me go, baby)
Hug me, kiss me
And love me
(Love me, never let go)

Whenever I'm on my way home
Just can't wait to be alone
With you my baby

Anticipatin' how you'll feel
Listen to me I'm for real
When I say, I love you

Baby don't go
Your love's so special
Can't let me go now

If I did wrong, I'm sorry
No other love
Is for me, oh yeah

Love me, hold me
Squeeze me
(Love me, never let me go, baby)
Hug me, kiss me
(Yeah, yeah, yeah)
(What, what, what, come on)
And love me
(Yeah, kid, Harlem on the rise)
(With 112 and you don't want no problem with these guys)

Yo, you cats never want no problem like we want it
When Harlem World doubled up
We put G's on it
I'm pushin' new 700 M.G.'s on it

If that nigga can't see the ice
That mean my sleeve's on it
You know I dress as I'm suppose to
Stretch Lex with a chauffeur

Never sober, Red Testarossa
Cherry Rover, Bagettes in my Jehovah
Me and Puff at the Grammy's
Sittin' next to Oprah
(And the winner is)

All we hear is platinum that
Platinum this, platinum whips
Nobody got no platinum hits
Cats know with me platinum always wrap my wrist

I come to the awards
Quadruple platinum chicks
Little ones like twenty-five
What cats get smacked with

Big ones like forty fives
What cats get clapped with
I react sick whenever my dough ain't adequate
Harlem World-Junior Mafia
Yeah, that's it, come on

Love me, hold me
Squeeze me
(Love me, never let go, girl)
Hug me, kiss me
And love me
(Love me, never let go)

Love me, hold me
Squeeze me
(Love me, never let go)
Hug me, kiss me
And love me
(Love me, never let go)

Love me, hold me
Squeeze me
(Love me, never let go)
Hug me, kiss me

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fd50a477002715348f7e8d6cdf3a2af3

Dead Wrong - Lyrics - Eminem

Title: Dead Wrong
Artist: Eminem
Composer(s): Osten Harvey, Christopher Wallace, Marshall Mathers, Al Green

Lyric:
Bad Boy baby
Yeah, yeah
Junior M.A.F.I.A., yeah
Yeah, B.I.G. 2000
B.I.G. 2000 born again, c'mon

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke
Throw you in a choke, gun smoke, gun smoke
Biggie Smalls for mayor, the rap slayer
The hooker layer, motherfucker say your prayers

Hail Mary full of grace, smack the bitch in the face
Take her Gucci bag and the North Face
Off her back, jab her if she act
Funny with the money, oh you got me mistaken honey

I don't wanna rape ya, I just want the paper
The Visa, kapeesha? I'm out like, 'The Vapors'
Who's the one you call Mr. Macho, the head honcho
Swift fist like Camacho, I got so

Much style I should be down wit the Stylistics
Make up to break up niggaz need to wake up
Smell the Indonesia, beat you to a seizure
Then fuck your moms, hit the skins till amnesia

She don't remember shit, just the two hits
Her hittin' the floor, and me hittin' the clits
Suckin' on the tits, had the hooker beggin' for the dick
And your moms ain't ugly love, my dick got rock quick

I guess I was a combination of House of Pain and Bobby Brown
I was 'Humpin' Around' and 'Jump-in Around'
Jacked her then I asked her who's the man, she said, ?B.I.G?
Then I bust in her E Y E

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

When I get dusted, I like to spread the blood like mustard
Trust it, my hardcore rain leaves you rusted
Move over Lucifer, I'm more ruthless, huh
Leave your toothless, you'll kibitz, I'll flip it

Tears don't affect me, I hit 'em with the tech G
Disrespect me, my potency is deadly
I'm shootin' babies, no ifs ands or maybes
Hit mummy in the tummy if the hooker plays a dummy

Slit the wrist of little sis after she sucked the dick
I stabbed her brother with the icepick
Because he wanted me to fuck him from the back
But Smalls don't get down like that

Got your father hidin' in a room, fucked him with the broom
Slit him down the back and threw salt in the wound
Who you think you're dealin' with?
Anybody step into my path is fuckin' feelin' it

Hardcore, I got it sucked like a pussy
Stab ya till you're gushy, so please don't push me
I'm using rubbers so they won't trace the semen
The black demon, got the little hookers screamin'
Because you know I love it young, fresh and green
With no hair in between, know what I mean?

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

There's several different levels to Devil worshippin' horse's heads
Human sacrifices, cannibalism, candles and exorcism
Animals havin' sex with 'em, camels, mammals and rabbits
But I don't get into that, I kick the habit

I just beat you to death with weapons that eat through the flesh
And I never eat you unless the fuckin', meat looks fresh
I got a lion in my pocket, I'm lyin', I got a nine in my pocket
And baby I'm just, dyin' to cock him, he's ready for war, I'm ready for war

I got machetes and swords for any fagot that said he was raw
My uz' as, heavy as yours, yeah you met me before
I just didn't have as large an arsenal of weapons before
Marshall will step in the door, I lay your head on the floor

With your body spread on the bedspread, red on the wall
Red on the ceilin', red on the floor, get a new whore
Met on the second, wet on the third, then she's dead on the fourth
I'm dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong
The weak or the strong, who got it goin' on
You're dead wrong

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e158f60aefbadc391c1c197d0988d55d

Lil' Drummer Boy - Lyrics - The Notorious K.I.M. - Lil' Kim

Title: Lil' Drummer Boy
Album: The Notorious K.I.M.
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): Kimberley Jones, Mario Winans, Sean Puffy Combs, Reggie Noble, Thomas D Burton

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

Lyric:
Will the court please rise?
Judge Funk Doctor Spock residing

Your honor Lil' Kim is a threat to society
She has shown a blatant disregard for the law
And has killed six fine law enforcement agents in the line of duty
For these vicious acts, she should be punished to the fullest
Extent of the law

Pardon me your honor, may I address the bench?
They try-na assassinate me like they did to Larry Flynt
Excuse my persona, I may be hardcore but I'm not Jeffrey Dalmer
Ever since I killed 'em, I ain't been in trouble since
It wasn't my fault I acted out of self-defense, he killed my best friend

(Who's him?)
I mean them, they was all dressed in blue and they want me dead too
They had real grenade bombs inside of their palms
And a whole bunch of guns wrapped tight in their arms
See them bastards woke me up when they broke my alarm
I was getting my ass licked by this cat named Tom

I heard three guns cocked that's when Tom dropped
(Stop!)
They sent the bow and arrow right through his tank top
(Stop that)
(Oh she's lying!)
Lying? Blood was gushing on the floor
Fingerprints all on the door, need I say more?

Pulled out the remote can and shot blows after blow
Ploom! Queen off her toes, they went down like dominoes
I think it was the Matrix, I mean it was the Matrix
What was I do? Sit back and just take this?

Yo I tell you now, if I loose this debate
Like in dead Presidents, I'm going out like Lorenz Tate
See I ain't gon' be stupid, I'm gon' take all y'all to the shift
I should be able to say what I want, what the fuck I plead the fifth
(Now Kim, Kim)
Fuck that Cee-lo, I got to save the world
The first female king and they mad cause I'm a girl

Uh with all due respect your honor
Excuse my client's temperament
Who has had social intelligence?
With so much innocence we have to implement

She was slightly out of place
But if you grant us a grain of your grace
I'll assure you it's only stress due to the severity of the case
Imagine for a minute, yourself in the same shoes
The same sense of survival and the same nothing to loose
Your children, your lovely wife, I mean look at her
The only thing she's guilty of is having no choice in the matter

Lord I cry
(I cry)
From the things I've seen
(That I've seen)
And Lord I cry
(I cry)
From the things I've seen
(Ooh)
If you only knew
(You only knew)
The things that I've been through
(Oh yeah)
You'd know why
(Order! Order! Order!)
You'd know why I cry, I cry, I cry
(Order! Order! Order!)

Order in the courts, I'm examining in her thoughts
And the notes on why you started slaughtering the fort
The men dressed in blue they were undercover cops
Hungry to see another black motherfucker shot

They ran up in your spot and no one gave the orders
Even Tom was tapped with a mic and a tape recorder
(He was in on it too!)
Yeah
(Me, I should've known)
Yeah
(Objection your honor)
Yo objection overruled

I know the news they tried to pay the grand jury
To give you life sentence with parole up in thirty
Now that's dirty, surveillance and you debate
Fuck Will! Now you're the new Enemy of the State

Angela Bobbett's cake compared to you
And Junior Mafia that clique ain't scared to move
So they took precautions, grenades from all force
And professional marksman with four fours of war hymn

But you stopped, dropped, rolled and duck
Shot back other bitches would've folded up
Now that's my kind of bitch, I know I'm the judge
But I love that bitch and I'm coming with her

Creme of crop and me, I'mma hold her down
Resign with A-K's so we blowing the trial
Look it's a setup, yo Kim come on
(I'm right behind you baby)
Yo Kim come on
(I'm right here with you man)

Lord I cry
(I cry)
From the things I've seen
(That I've seen)
And Lord I cry
(I cry)

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32fcb380412b89d3c9bf365dfdda1519

One Big Fiesta - Lyrics - Harlem World

Title: One Big Fiesta
Artist: Harlem World
Composer(s): Chad Hugo, Stason Betha, Pharrell Williams, Jamal Aziz, Lionel Richie, Michael Foster

Lyric:
All out, we don't stop, we don't don't stop
All out, we don't stop, we don't don't stop
All out, make it hot, don't stop, c'mon
C'mon, Harlem World make it hot, don't stop c'mon
All out, all out

Yo, yo, I'm the perfect example of a chick that's classy
Flashy, sassy, papparazzi don't harrass me
Move too swift for y'all chicks to pass me
Anything y'all wanna know, come ask me

How come when I'm in the street or a open place
Everybody scopin' Stase like I got a open case
Anything you gotta say to me, you can say to me, it's Baby Stase
The more I make, the more they hate

See, I might as well admit it, everybody wanna hit it
'Cuz I got a clean record not to mean you see me naked, check it
I don't know what's wrong with these cats
It's 'bout to be a setback in this game called rap, see

I was once told, Harlem World don't fold
We 'bout to drop a flow the world can hold
Seem like while I'm seeing Platinum, everybody sayin' gold
The world really see what happens when my click unfold

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

Yo, Harlem World is who I'm runnin' wit', yeah, honeys wit' it
See the size of my money clip? Now, I'm on the funny tip
I know you hate me, hate Mase, 'cuz you make papes
And got girls in like 48 states

But kickin' the women who wear the straight face
While y'all cats wild out and 'bout to get a rape case
But why player hate? 'Cuz I sex girls and they say I'm great
You bust one tank, can't even stay awake

Not now, we gon' talk on a later day
What you think? You can hold Blink?
I got a gold link with more ice than cold drinks
So, playa get to that, and keep your chick in tact

She says your sex was whack, 'cuz I'd twist her back
And every time I kick my rap, man I stick to facts
But when my trees wasn't sellin'
I switch to Jack, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

Yo, yo, yo, I need a wifee, chipped up lightly
You stay in the thong, I'm ma stay where the ice be
Indian givin', got Caribbean women
Willin' to have everything like me and my children

So, dear, front of the billin'
Hundreds in the ceiling, tank tops in the drop
'Cuz I'm one of them villain
Cook for me, come open a book for me

Shook the key, your whole look hooked me
With her legs tied up, eggs sunny side up
No cash in the stash, get that money right up
See, all girls love me, can't get nothing from me

I stay in the Mall, spendin' rich chicks' money
Tricked on her friend so her friend wanna fuck me
That one named Huddy, W dot Huddy, W dot Huddy
W dot Huddy, W dot Huddy, W dot Huddy

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

We're going to party, fiesta
And stay fly, foreva
C'mon, c'mon, Harlem World
Can't go wrong

Bad Boy, Suave House
Yeah, kid, Harlem on the rise
And you don't want no problem with us guys
Neptune, keep the beat bangin'

Uh, you don't stop
Queen Bee, Junior Mafia
What, what, what, what, what
All out, all out, all out, all out

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No Matter What - Lyrics - Double Up - Mase

Title: No Matter What
Album: Double Up
Artist: Mase
Composer(s): Gary Numan, Davin Vanderpool, Sean Combs, Mason Betha

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Lyric:
Yeah, here we go
Let's party again, let's party again
Let's party again, let's party again
Can't be stopped, won't be stopped
Let's dance again, let's dance again
Let's dance again don't know how to stop
Let's dance again refuse to stop
All Out, Bad Boy, come on

Yo, everyday I wake up, sick of the homeless
But other than that I'm a Bentley consumer I get pain
Yo' I cry like you, I get sick, I could die like you
I used to hate my broke days with a passion

Now when I get big money I stash some
See a watch I like, I just grab one
Party and bullshit, book trips have fun
Get paid, get money, get dough

Get laid, get honeys, get low
Platinum status what I live for
Sold four million now I want six more
Never satisfied just like my mom

With 10 mill' sitting' in the treasury bond
When I roll dice just respect my arm
You can't put me on the level 'cause I'm level beyond

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

I be M.I.A and M.I.A.M.I, so am I the kid who be so appealing
Live a lifestyle so revealing, love them M N M's, the multi millions
So y'all could spit it out, me I live it out
Y'all cats lay away a month then get it out
I'm the first cat in the club all izzyed out
Rock ice burg when you thought it was Mickey Mouse

So sit me, I'm pourin' Cris to the curb
All I got to do is just give a chick a word
Her whole team, you will see a chick with a bird
Messing with Mase you'll get what you deserve
A buck 50, nah, take a buck 60
Extra 10 good for thinking they can mess with me

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

Yo, you the type in the movies cuddled up
With a groupie hang by, buttered up
I ain't getting with you, yo' love her in her gut
That's the reason why you can't even bubble up

You get your team and huddle up
And come back with enough cream to Double Up
Until then I'ma still be here cooking
Anything I'm pushing, 20 G's a cushion

Why prove this kid is the smoothest
When there's people that pay me to do this
Pretty color cars is what we cravin'
Six star tele's is what we stayed in

Any man with me must be made men
We just buy cars, we don't trade in
I don't need ten statements see what I'm saving
No need for a manager I need an agent

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

It don't matter what you do to me
I can handle what you send my way
No matter what I do today
You'll still have something to say

Mase Murda can't be stopped, P. Diddy can't be stopped
Blinky Blink can't be stopped, Big Loon can't be stopped
Sista Stase can't be stopped, B.I.G can't be stopped
Lil' Kim can't be stopped, Lil' Cease can't be stopped
Junior M.A.F.I.A. can't be stopped, Big Shyne can't be stopped
L.O.X. can't be stopped, Bad Boy can't be stopped
All Out can't be stopped we just can't be stopped, man
2000 baby

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