Pop The Trunk - Lyrics - Celly Cel

Title: Pop The Trunk
Artist: Celly Cel
Composer(s): Chad L. Butler, Bernard James Freeman, Marceles Mccarver, Marvin Whitemon

Lyric:
[Incomprehensible]

I just bought me a Coupe De ville
Took out the air bag put in a wood wheel
Now all the ATL niggas wanna jack 'cause I'm from Texas
Never seen candy with the fifth on the back

I'm comin' down the west end, niggas tryin' to jack
And bust a right Coney Island pop the trunk and started cappin'
Niggas was happenin' put they Burboun to the floor nigga
Hard to bust back but I was penetrating they doe

Nigga in PA, it's like the wild, wild west
Throwin' all packed [Incomprehensible] and we all wear vests
When the shit pop out, who gonna stunt
Nigga ain't shootin' me first I fin to pop the trunk

These niggas keep talkin' like they want the funk
But niggas love to talk shit I fin to pop the trunk
Runnin' off at they dick suck as gettin' it crunk
Nigga I'm high off this weed I fin to pop the trunk

Steady frontin' like a man but you show me a punk
Man I knew he was a bitch I had to pop the trunk
All we really came to do is just smoke some scum
These niggas steady runnin' me hot I'm fin to pop the trunk

You niggas didn't know that I was out of control
Slow yo roll for I put this chopper straight to yo fo'
Head you better off dead than to fuck around with psycho niggas
Don't be trying to plead yo case 'cause I don't even like no niggas

In my face, trying to question me about some drama
Only answer to two people God and my mama
Far as niggas tryin' to put me in the cross
Let 'em holler at my bitch, Nina Ross hoe house boss

I bet you mind somethin' in, run and tell a friend
[Incomprehensible] on the Gin, I think he said, "Trippin' once again"
It ain't no stoppin' me, get at me then I'm dumpin' on ya
Ridin' past yo funeral hangin' out the window slumpin' on ya

You didn't know, they didn't tell you boy you better listen
While I shoot this shit before you put yourself in that position
Niggas that know me know I specialize in havin' bump
You can have the tail way from the shovel so we can pop the trunk

These niggas keep talkin' like they want the funk
Man 'cause his bitch chose me I fin to pop the trunk
Runnin' off at they dick suck as gettin' it crunk
'Cause I'm fuckin' yo gal I got to pop the trunk

Steady frontin' like a man but you show me a punk
Nigga tried to jack my car I had to pop the trunk
All we really came to do is just smoke some scum
Smokin' at the Tittie bar I had to pop the trunk

Under Cali's blue skies, smokin' on chronicles and chocolate ties
Even when we tell the truth, the hoes we lies
Man ain't no disguise, doin' ninety week flies
Ain't got no time for middle men and small fries

Only money conversation and big thighs
Let me talk to your boss man, the nigga wit the pies
And back yo ass up and don't act so surprised
When pistols start to cock, hands start to rise

Nobody move too fast I advise
Or you can catch a hot one right between ya eyes
Recognize I done set me sights on the prize
And put lights out with boom fifty bye, bye

I'm labeling my life off of rap and weed highs
And ask my agent bout my fuckin' shoe size
But fuckin' wit' us ain't wise
We get crunk, we came to pop the trunk
What, the trunk

These niggas keep talkin' like they want the funk
I knew he was the police I had to pop the trunk
Runnin' off at they dick suck as gettin' it crunk
Man I'm sippin' on [Incomprehensible] poppin' the trunk

Steady frontin' like a man but you show me a punk
[Incomprehensible] I had to pop the trunk
All we really came to do is just smoke some scum
To make it, make it crunk I had to pop the trunk

I know that they some bitches had to pop the trunk
California to Texas poppin' the trunk
UGK and Celly Cell we 'bout to pop the trunk
Sippin' on Hennessey [Incomprehensible] I fin to pop the trunk, bitch
Smoke somethin', D time, PA, uh, '97
Smoke somethin', representin' money, like too short bitch

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46b96dc57ca0f8825de9087690b436ff

Have Some Fun With The Funk - Lyrics - Soundtrack Exclusives & Rarities - Aaron Carter

Title: Have Some Fun With The Funk
Album: Soundtrack Exclusives & Rarities
Artist: Aaron Carter
Composer(s): Steve Lunt

Lyric:
One, two
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Ooh oh
Yeah, yeah, yeah

If I threw a party would you be there
Would you bring your friends too
'Cause why should we stay at home
When there's something better to do

Let's started in the house
And move it to the street
Come on and follow me

And have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's gonna pump
Bebop and body bump

Let's have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's too short
So come on, get on board and have some fun

We all need a permanent vacation
From the things that get us down
So just turn it up and turn it out
'Cause it can never get too loud

Let's take it from the street
And move it to the beach
There's sand beneath our feet

And have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's gonna pump
Bebop and body bump

Let's have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's too short
So come on, get on board and have some fun

There is no place I'd rather be
And it's no secret why
It would never mean as much to me
Without you by my side

One
Stop starring at the walls
Two
All you girls and boys
One
It's time to make some noise
Two

One, two, three
And have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's gonna pump
Bebop and body bump

Let's have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's too short
So come on, get on board and have some fun

With the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's gonna pump
Bebop and body bump

Let's have some fun with the funk
Turn up the bass and pop the trunk
This party's too short
So come on, get on board and have some fun

Fun with the funk
Fun with the funk

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e81251e2f34ad0b033ddcab6499d9356

Cock The 9 - Lyrics - Impact of a Legend - Eazy E

Title: Cock The 9
Album: Impact of a Legend
Artist: Eazy E
Composer(s): David Weldon, Lorenzo Jerald Patterson, Charles Givings, Andre Branch, Eric Wright

Lyric:
Here's the latest from the king of badness
I got the shit that makes niggaz wanna flip
G'd up all better wit beanies
Sweatin' all the bitches to blow are weanies

Niggaz all getting drunk and smoking a bum bud
Oh wait, here's a punk, pump the trunk
'Cuz it's a gang of jackers in the front smoking
All the hump, some shit was said about blue and red

But I'm color blind and I gotta nine
Threw up the sign I cock the 9, I cock the 9

Well nigga, pop the 9 and let it holla
Test drive wit a neighborhood's scholar
Black Impaler, blue chucks on gettin' outta
Sucks on hip hop thugsta, get the fuck on

Niggaz looking shifty, do they wanna diss me?
Lick me, show me love or peel my cap quickly
My six sense won't let me slip, don't puff wit the draggin' 'em
I'm still toe taggin' 'em, hit the spot wit a don still baggin' 'em

It's the low call, S.A.B on the vocal
Blast my way out Eazy pay
The way all you bitch niggaz stay out

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

It's like dice game, dice game niggaz get they roll on
Everything's all good till niggaz getting sold on
Here we all get together and shoot, fuck
I grab my gun then I picked up my loot

But I didn't lose shit so it's all good
Leavin' pumpin' Eazy-E 'Boyz 'n the Hood'
'Cuz I'm a gangsta so I can relate most of these
Niggaz is fake and tryin' to hate

I put a buster in his place, I put one in his face
Obey my first and give him the taste
That's how I duz it, that's how I do it
And the murder weapon that I use you know I threw it

He kept persuading so I had to do it
Play for keeps that's the rule of the streets

Dick Tracy all on my nutz like Cagny and Lacy
And don't faze me, Ruthless is the label that pays me
But this one H.K weighs a ton, words are yellow wit
The [unverified] freaks on a run, bring ya condom in the kingdom

From the ceilin' to the floor, info red at ya window
Plus the E go hangin' out the beamer tho
Drop shit like a seagull for the people
Ho's make a contribution but y'all don't hear me tho

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

Tuck ya legs to my dick with the wrap 'em real tight
Just incase it's on and a nigga gotta fight
And a nigga gotta bust but who in the fuck said in God we trust
The shit wen't down everybody start runnin'

Bitches screamin' and the bullets still comin'
Run into a nigga tryin to save mine
Reach for my gun, shit

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9 and everything is fine
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9
I cock the 9, I cock the 9, I cock the 9, my homey pop the 9

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97376f0992fc851a0bb4aae9a0582e6c

In The Flesh - Lyrics - Jurassic 5 - Jurassic 5

Title: In The Flesh
Album: Jurassic 5
Artist: Jurassic 5
Composer(s): D Givens, L Macfadden, C Henderson, M Potsic, C Stewart, M Stuart

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

Lyric:
It's the J U R A
Capital S another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
'Cause we'll pop the trunk
Plus the tape on your cassette

'Cause it's the J U R A
Capital S another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
'Cause we'll pop the trunk
Plus the tape on your cassette

I'm from the crew called Jurassic
Stretch like elastic, live and on plastic
Step and get that ass kicked
From here to there, MC's beware
I represent that real ghetto urban warfare, ah yeah

What you say when you see me in your town
Bucking off some rounds
Of that underground sound
You need to open your eyes, realize and recognize
Throw your hands in the air lick a shot for J5

I'm all the way live, I socialize with the wise
Underprivileged spiritually deprived
At times in the flesh, airwaves getting checked
The vibe is energized by the way I spit my dialect

I be the brain cell buster
Old school style kicking hustler
That'll rush ya like a wrestler
Elliot Ness ya, bow to my pressure
Step to J5 you're getting played like Fester

I be the ever handy
Hard like rock candy
Down with Mork and Mandy
Won't date Sandy brown eyes

Tale of the physical trait
Intoxicated by the bomb as I start to sedate
Your mainframe, all speaking on running this thang
Five J's in the house and the styles to blame

'Cause it's the J U R A
Capital S another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
'Cause we'll pop the trunk
Plus the tape on your cassette

'Cause it's the J U R A
Capital S another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
A prehistoric B-boy making beats in my cave

They call me 2-na, as in fish in sea
Self efficiency, that's my mission see
Got me wishing we all
Could've puffed a spliff first, shoot the giff first

And 2-na Fish becomes a gift horse
Look me in the mouth
Tell me what you see
No matter who I am
I am you as you see me

You is still Nity
COM squared and shit
I was put here to see
If you came prepared and shit
I'm red as shit

My head is split from every crazy
Lazy kid we thought was chill
They was Swayze
Soon as they got a taste
Of what the U N I was like
They eyes was like blam
From the surprise and fright

Now it's the vocal enhancement
Vintage reigning rocks
A hundred mines swing
Dig a few chains of black gold
Plus block the seven holes that froze

A nigga soul and bust blood through his toes
For acting like his shit was mega heavy weight
But he couldn't escape
The way we wet him down, like it was Watergate

Infiltrate flavor crack skull and stone
Rip through the carcass spit blood and bone
For all those, who feel their crews forever tight knitted
When raps emitted, Islamicly transmitted

Is the brother a color?
Yes, the color's darkly tinted
No acts or gimmicks
And where the bullets imprinted it's whipped

It hibernates until it stretch the yellow tape
For Mister Doc, key is caliber career, yea
With so many rhymes, it can't a crew make me
Rock for 32 times like John Wayne Gacy

You need to put your hands together
'Cause J5 is in the house
Because we're guaranteed to keep it live
When we kick the party vibe
We came to catch wreck

We got the fossilized flavor
For you fools who slept
And plus we got you sucka crews in check
Now come correct Nu-Mark
Hit 'em with the perfect blend
'Cause it don't stop rockin' till I say when

J U R A capital S
Another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
'Cause we'll pop the trunk
Plus the tape on your cassette

'Cause it's the J U R A
Capital S another S I C
5 MC's in the flesh
Bound to catch wreck, hit the deck
'Cause we'll pop the trunk
Plus the tape on your cassette

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0f86b0a8b8ab685886dec0a3d8b2f960

Southern Takeover - Lyrics - The Sound of Revenge - Chamillionaire

Title: Southern Takeover
Album: The Sound of Revenge
Artist: Chamillionaire
Composer(s): Nsilo Kharonde Reddick, Michael Santiago Render, Hakeem Seriki, Nicholas Sherwood, Micah Troy

Lyric:
The sound of revenge, tell 'em what it is Mayne
Welcome to the New World Order
Atlanta, Georgia Houston, Texas
The south is officially takin' over, he already know

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

It's the mister fo fifth told 'em cookin' coke with baking soda
Dub roller, pro smoker, wood gripper, pistol whipper
Muck a nigga if he figure fuckin' with my figures
Makes him richer he should know instead or it'll make him better

Than a money fuckin' with my money
Get yo money stacked right outta Sunday school
On a bright and sunny Sunday this ain't funny
I ain't jokin' 'bout my coke and package come up shorter

Might kidnap yo wife and daughter bury them down deep in Georgia
No D.A's a fuckin' lawyer prosecutin' witnesses
We execute and start the shootin', start the lootin'
Start the violence, start a riot

Get this motherfucker crunker, crunk as you can get it
Pass that ho, I'm a hit it outta line, we gon' spit it
Spit it vivid, 'cause I live it you don't walk it, you just talk it
Pistol totin' and a loadin' that's how smokin' got this dope
And I ain't hopin', steady slangin' right on yo trappa block
Try your track, set up shop try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Hey, hey, hey this ain't about an image, this ain't about a gimmick
Pussys stand to the side now the game got a menace
I damn seen a city that I think is not the realest
We bummin' on his ass, we finishin' his sentence

I only got a minute, I feelin' about a digit
You lookin' at a nigga like I ain't about to get it
I'm lookin' at the money like I ain't about to finish
So you need to mind your business if you ain't about your business

I'm a H-Town soldier
I'm a come with the trunk up yeah I'm a gon' remind ya
If you ain't gettin' it you shoulda told ya father
Nigga Chamillionaire never show no problems

You don't want no problem
Get 'em knees shoulda let the fo fo remind 'em
Ya you tip on the ride 'em
I be ridin' fo fo's on the door beside 'em

6' 6" tall lookin' like he a center
10 tatoos lookin' like he a killa
Skinny ass niggas don't fight with a nigga
Pull out a billfold, put a price on a nigga

I have this camp fo put a knife in a nigga
From the car to his pocket then right in your liver
Was a big boy that put a slice in the middle
Ya head fast think you hold a mike with the killa

Don't mess with the south homie, that's a dream
Hallucinate or imagining so
Double XL with the gats I mean
Keep somethin' ready to blow in the magazine

And you know that southern cash is mean
Franklin's frown for me when I stash my cream
Pull up in candy paint that match my green
Killer, Pastor and Koopa are the master machine

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Y'all know me, it's PT well I hunt and all of that
Black on black, with black tip, I can't help but represent
I'm not content, I want more who the fuck you take me for?
Studio rappers not the fortay, drop my top and bust my AK

No more play, N G A yeah, that's a classic
Ridin' in the classic tote a mill and I blast 'em
Send 'em to the casket, send 'em to the morgue
Slap me a nigga 'cause I'm motherfuckin' bored

Chamillionaire, I camoflouge in my surrounding
Get my desert E's and get to motherfuckin' poundin'
Up and down the streets throwin' heat, out the driver's seat
Ridin' to the beat tell them nigga just lay weak

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

Just look over your shoulder
Let me see who just showed up
It's the southern takeover, it's over, you betta tell 'em
I got drinks that stand on top try and stop, pop, pop, pop

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98d1e706a0dae176934c0fc45b3610e2

King Kong - Lyrics - Jibbs Feat Jibbs - Jibbs

Title: King Kong
Album: Jibbs Feat Jibbs
Artist: Jibbs
Composer(s): Jovan Campbell, Bradford Ray, Derryl Howard, Maurice Wilson, Orlando Watson

Lyric:
Beaster

If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk
King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me
I got King, I got King Kong

Aiyyo this beat is bananas
A King Kong you can put ?em in the trunk of the McClaren
So when I do it up they fall off, fall off
When they look at my ride, you see the doors is fall off

And the wheels look flat, trunk so heavy in the back
Got the speakers in the front and they be sitting on my lap
Got the bumpers to the flo' 'cause the trunk weighing it down
Look they think it?s a low-rider when they come from my town

And that?s a King Kong, in the trunk, that?s the gorillas behind me
When I?m rolling through your hood anybody can find me
You can hear me from the next block when I?m on the next block
When I?m headed to the next block, got you jumping to the next block

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, Kong King
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me
I got King, I got King Kong

Lil? Momma got you stopping and dropping when a man stop bopping
So I told her she ain?t talking about nothing and she just fronting
You can hear me from a block and you already know what?s up
With the women 'cause they feeling how it rumble in my trunk

I got 20 speakers up in my trunk and I turned it up
And all the ladies loving how it be bumping they can hear me comin'
You can hear before you see me, I got beats up in my trunk
All the ladies want to chase me when they hear my system bump

Say Jibbs I?m about to head out to the Bruin
Holla at you about fedy, hit my celly soon as you ready
Split this cheese like a deli

They thought I was a lunatic when I pulled up to the telly
I had that candy coated Chevy, showing it?s grill like it?s Nelly
And the ladies love me, why is that?
They love the way I be getting my lean on

Get the diamond and my multi colored diamond bling on
That King Kong, yeah, I bet ya this gon? be the theme song
'Cause that King Kong will have your ears ringing like a ring tone

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, Kong King
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me
I got King, I got King Kong

Gyeah, them bitches knockin?, I got it on lock
'Cause I make hits like I?m boxing
Start it up and it sound like a block hit it
Then a hater, hating inside like don?t pop with this

See the beats is beat, ya hear me before you see me
Before you even can reach me, it?ll have ya thinking
That this boy is the beast in the streets
While ya blinking, have ya bopper looking like you been drinking

I?ll eat ya, it?s like I have speakers in my speakers
So when they speaking on it all they can speak of is a beaster boy
So don?t make me just treat ya to a feast
A beast that just beats off both of your ear drums

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me
I got King, I got King Kong

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me
I got King, I got King Kong

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong

If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
If you hear before you see me
I got King Kong in the trunk

King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
King, King Kong, King, King, King, King Kong
If you hear before you see me

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fa965bf55bfc0efb8fd29950c19f1267

Good Life - Lyrics - Graduation - Kanye West

Title: Good Life
Album: Graduation
Artist: Kanye West
Composer(s): James E Ingram, Quincy D 7 Jones, Aldrin Davis, Faheem Najm, Kanye Omari West

Lyric:
Like we always do at this time
I go for mine, I gots to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky
I go for mine, I gots to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky

I'ma get on this TV, mama
I'ma, I'ma put shit down
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, I'm good

Welcome to the good life
Where niggaz that sell D
Won't even get pulled over in they new V
The good life, let's go on a livin' spree
Shit, they say the best things in life are free

The good life, it feel like Atlanta
It feel like L.A., it feel like Miami
It feel like N.Y., summertime Chi, ahh
Now throw your hands up in the sky

So I roll through good
Y'all pop the trunk, I pop the hood, Ferrari
And she got the goods
And she got that ass, I got to look, sorry

Yo, it's got to be 'cause I'm seasoned
Haters give me them salty looks, Lowry's
50 told me go 'head switch the style up
And if they hate then let 'em hate
And watch the money pile up, the good life

Now I, I go for mine, I got to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky
Now I, I go for mine, I got to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky

I'ma get on this TV mama
I'ma, I'ma put shit down
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, I'm good

Welcome to the good life
Where we like the girls who ain't on TV
'Cause they got more ass than the models
The good life, so keep it comin' with them bottles
Till she feel boozed like she bombed at Apollo

The good life, it feel like Houston
It feel like Philly, it feel like D.C.
It feel like VA or the Bay or Ye
Ayy, this is the good life

Welcome to the good life
Homie, tell me what's good
Why I only got a problem when you in the hood?
Welcome to the good life
Like I'm new in the hood, the only thin' I wish?
I wish a nigga would

Welcome to the good life
He probably think he could, but, but
I don't think he should
Welcome to the good life
50 told me go 'head switch the style up
And if they hate then let 'em hate
And watch the money pile up, the good life

Now I, I go for mine, I got to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky
Now I, I go for mine, I got to shine
Now throw your hands up in the sky

Hey, I'ma get on this TV mama
I'ma, I'ma put shit down
Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey
Hey, I'm good

Have you ever popped champagne on a plane
While gettin' some brain?
Whipped it out, she said, "I never seen snakes on a plane"
Whether you broke or rich you gotta get biz
Havin' money's the everythin' that havin' it is

I was splurgin' on trizz, but when I get my car back
Activated, I'm back to Vegas 'cause
I always had a passion for flashin' before I had it
I close my eyes and imagine, the good life

Is the good life better than the life I live
When I thought that I was gonna go crazy?
And now my grandmama ain't the only girl callin' me baby

And if you feelin' me now then put your hands up in the sky
And let me hear you say hey, hey, hey
Ooh, I'm good

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3b8d74131d9654a87a50b8d30a073972

If I Can'T - Lyrics - Get Rich Or Die Tryin' - 50 Cent

Title: If I Can'T
Album: Get Rich Or Die Tryin'
Artist: 50 Cent
Composer(s): Mike Elizondo, Ron Feemster, Curtis Jackson, Andre Young

Lyric:
If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby
(Baby)

I apply pressure to pussies that stuntin' I pop
Stand alone squeezin' my pistol I'm sure that I gotta
Now Peter Piper picked peppers, and run rocked rhymes
Now 50 Cent, I write a li'l bit but I pop nines

Tell niggaz, "Get they money right", 'cause I got mine
And I'm around quit playin' nigga you can't shine
You gon' be that next chump to end up in the trunk
After bein' hit by the pump, is that what you want?

Be easy nigga, I lay your ass out
Believe me nigga, that's whut I'm about, gangsta
You could find a nigga sittin' on chrome
Hit the clutch, hit the gear, hit the gas and I'm gone

If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby
(Baby)

I'm down for the action he smart with his mouth so smack 'em
You holdin' a strap, he might come back so clap 'em
React like a gangsta, die like a gangsta for actin'
'Cuz you'll get hit and homicide'll be askin' whut happened?

Oh no, look who crept in with the fo-fo 20 inch rims sittin' on low-pro
Eastside westside niggaz all know, I'm loco
Even my mama said, "Something really wrong with my brain"
Niggaz dont rob me they know I'm down to die for my chain

G unit
(Yea)
We get it poppin' in the hood
G unit
(Yea)
Muthafucka whut's good?
I'm waitin' on niggaz to act like they don't know how to act
I had a sip of too much jack, I'll blow 'em off the map
With the mack, thinkin' it's all rap
'Til that ass get clapped and Doc say "It's a wrap"
(It's a wrap, nigga)

If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby
(Baby)

I been feelin' I have to teach lessons to slow learners
Go head act up, get smacked in the head with the burner
I dont fight fair, I'm dirty dirty
I'm from Southside Jamaica, Queens, nigga ya heard me?

When streetlights come on niggaz blast the nines
Get locked up, they read books to pass the time
In the game there's ups and downs, so I stay on the grind
Niggaz on my dick more than my bitch, I stay on they mind

They ain't nothin' they could do to stop my shine
This is God's plan homey, this ain't mine
I played the music loud so Grandpa called me a nuisance
And Grandma who always gotta throw her two cents

I'm the drop out who made more more money than these teachers
Ruthless like the Coupe but I come with more features
I am whut I am, you could like it or love it
It feels good to pull 50 grand and think nothin' of it fuck it

If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby
(Baby)

If I can't do well, homey, it can't be done
Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop
I'ma take it to the top
Fo sho I'ma make it hot, baby
(Baby)

Uh huh, hood make it hot
Dr. Dre, aftermath
Shady, ha ha

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9da1fb5962e784215f37c4a174ba8a21

Z - Poppin' Tags - Lyrics - The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse - Jay

Title: Z - Poppin' Tags
Album: The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): William Robinson, Antwan Patton, Shawn Carter, Michael Santigo Render, Kanye West, Carl Terrell Mitchell

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

Lyric:
And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

We arose, let's go
So fresh so clean like 'Kast
Jay-Z be poppin' tags
Leavin' the mall with heavy bags
You know the boy got a love for the cash
Aw fuck, there he go again
Talkin' bout hoes and dough again
Yup! Can't hold it in

I'm surprised I got so much dough to spend
But, back when I was poorer then
You wasn't focusin', about the dough I spend
But I was holdin' in, I was a roller then
I was a baller back then, all of that man
Fall back, I fought that
What would you do if you was in my shoes?

Leave dudes in the rearview
V-12 engine, corners spinnin'
Twinkies shinin', pinky ring
Armadale, nigga stinky stink
Top, down, my cash is up
Gold chain, I don't give a fuck
Gold brain'll get you in the truck ma
That's right, you in luck ma

You see me cruisin' down, better step inside
Ain't enough room to fit you all in the ride
First come, first served basis
You know hoe be goin' to nice places
That's right, and I'm droppin' cash
Leave the mall with garbage bags
Gucci this, Prada that
Roll wit your boy you'll be poppin tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

It's a party when I go up in the sto'
Shoppin' while I'm zooted off the dro'
Rollin' like a nigga that just came up on a mill
And I got 'em sweepin' and pickin' up tags off the floor
Bag full of clothes I remember havin' rocks in the hall
On the glimmer with the glock by the ball
Servin' up a jab and workin' security 6 to 6
Then it's straight from the block to the mall

Now what's on the wall? Go ahead and treat yourself
When you come up on some cheddar better pop that tag
Like when I dip off in the Prada then I go off
To the lot lay the paper down and cop that Jag
I got a console full of ammunition and funds
Mink roc a wear and some guns
Petty in a fresh pair of jumps, blo packs and Bo Jackson
And air maxes, throw back some ones, no max for none

When I go up in the sto' a nigga never get enough
I'm a baller and if you want it come and get it now
Nigga come to a race with a car you won't catch up
And the twista kinda wicked when I spit it now
I be choppin' up cheddar with Kanye
Chop a little cheddar up with Jay
Chop it up with the O to the kizay
Poppin big tags with the flow and the dough, we get busy

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

Uh huh, whattup? Tell you somethin' bout me
My throwback game is whiffle wicked
Saint Patty's day, green pinstripe, number 20 Mark Spitz'n
Jersey oh we with the matchin' new wear fitted
White boys say my style is bitchin'
Keepin' coke in the kitchen
Keep a glock that will shock and bring the rest
Tucked underneath my Mitchell and Ness

I, travelin', handlin' with a forty-five cannon
It's tucked in my Marc Buchanan
Extra clips and shells in the lambskin
Two deep by Pelle Pelle
Westside how they felly fell
More G's on me, than a late 80's Gucci leather
Worn by the great Rakim himself

Stitch my dapper dan oh man with the gun in hand
I leave your blood squirting
No offense, I'll put your face on the chest
Of a sweatshirt drawn by shirt kings
I been fucking, a hustle, married to a racket
Since the first Air Jordan's and Starter jackets
I slept with a package, under mattress

I carry guns heavy speakeasy, slight with the fight words
I'll put somethin' hot through your motherfuckin' iceberg
Got a project chica, named Rica
She keep a purse full of dro' reefer
Small, pinkies like that
Talk 'til the paper fat
I rock somethin', roll chief sacks like daddy fat

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelery that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, trippin' we be poppin' tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelery that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, trippin' we be poppin' tags

Pop tires in reverse, you'll be needin' a nurse
Leave you layin' on your back in a Cadillac hearse
Now your momma in all black with a matchin' purse
I know you wanna blow up, but a funeral hurts
What's worse, you can hit the mall and ball 'til you fall
Have to make a collect call, but your cell cut off
Trot to the mailbox thinkin' a check but the mail's run short

No more MD, DD, LD
That means movie date, dinner date
Lunch date, help me please
My sheets is gone
Long bread to the short bread, word is bond
Meticulously pimpously serve the song
Act a damn donkey
Like the pilgrims when they popped
A tag on the Indians home

Drop top rag o with the weed gone
Chillin', bags in the trunk full of FAO Schwartz for the chill'uns
Spent a few shillings
Sip a few chickens, lick a few kittens, just kiddin'
A fresh bowl of milk is in the fridge and
Can you pop the tags on the honeycombs
Or are you actin' mad cause the money done

Slowed, down, just a little bit dipped, poked out, did some shull bit
Actin' like a pitfall bull pit, dead game is the pulpit
Leave a motherfucker with his John Doe toe tag clipped
Imperial classic, a lyrical thrashin' a miracle happenin'
Jay-Z, Killer Mike and Big Boi rappin' and rhymin' and smabbin'
Pop that tag on some of this game
Hollatic, swallow and keep the change

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

And we gon' stay hustlin' on that block until we caught
And we gon' stay showin' off that jewelry that we bought
And we gon' stay leavin' out the stores with heavy bags
'Cause we be poppin' tags, pimpin' we be poppin' tags

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be9984d5a92ea780b528fe79b0e6e662

Drop Drop - Lyrics - Joe Budden

Title: Drop Drop
Artist: Joe Budden
Composer(s): Joseph Kulesznski, Joseph Budden

Lyric:
Yeah, yeah
Oh, no, louder, oh, no, louder, oh, no

Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies
Let it pop, pop, at the bar, Budden, them bottles
An' them shots, shots, my ladies, it's all gravy
If you hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot
An' maybe we can bone, bone

Know that we chillin', she somethin' shakin'
In her thong, thong, gangsta, gangsta
Paper, paper, long, long an' for my riders all over
Now you know we wanna hit it, hit it
Don't stop, get it, get it

Sick wit it, I keep paper around me
So I know this, everybody got the vapors around me
See me in a big truck, thin rubber ridin'
2 way an' a broad an' got 10 others squattin'

'Cause I know Cal broads act up, man
So 'cha man, man, gotta keep a back up plan
Not a dance floor nucka
I'm take 'em home, get 'em to drop they pants
An' gross, nucka, 'til the drip, drip

No, you not my wife, no, you no handle my kid, kid
I'm just tryin' to put in your rib, rib
Through Cheetah, we in the four door Beem
Not like the two seater, like the kid only got a few divas

Drive wit my knees, seats recline
While she leaned over givin' me a piece of her mind
I be sizin' 'em up from they thighs an' above
Holla at me if you wanna come an' ride wit a thug, yeah

Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies
Let it pop, pop, at the bar, Budden, them bottles
An' them shots, shots, my ladies, it's all gravy
If you hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot
An' maybe we can bone, bone

Know that we chillin', she somethin' shakin'
In her thong, thong, gangsta, gangsta
Paper, paper, long, long an' for my riders all over
Now you know we wanna hit it, hit it
Don't stop, get it, get it

All my ladies, if you ridin'
Then you know to skip the shotgun an' bag the one drivin'
All my nuckas, if you ridin'
Don't trip, plenty cash, if she stingy wit ass

Yo' boy got a street chick, rocks, Channel, she focused
Stay wit a bag of fine an' no elder rollin'
She just one of my dames, gotta stay cool
With everything I got is under her name, it's on

Top, top an' I'm the same dude, came up from the block, block
I'm doing it, baby, I can't stop, stop
In my rear view, I'm gettin' tailed by the cops, cops
Clean but kit got me lookin' like I'm hot, hot

I ain't on the streets, streets, dog just tryin' to eat, eat
So fall back, jerk, cop, I ain't beat, beat
Can't miss me, I'm the guy in the V Tweezy
An' that dime you was hollerin' at, she's wit me in the

Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies
Let it pop, pop, at the bar, Budden, them bottles
An' them shots, shots, my ladies, it's all gravy
If you hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot
An' maybe we can bone, bone

Know that we chillin', she somethin' shakin'
In her thong, thong, gangsta, gangsta
Paper, paper, long, long an' for my riders all over
Now you know we wanna hit it, hit it
Don't stop, get it, get it

Chicks wit nice bodies, whips be wide body
Backseat empty, clips can ride, shorty, we gon' ride, ride
See yo' boy gettin' a million
We ain't merkin' it, Nathan had they missin' a ceiling

An' could catch me spendin' time at the bar
You like your water frozen, dog, I like mine in a jar
We get it crunk, crunk
Y'all hear the system out in the trunk, trunk
Thump, thump, Budden be givin' you what you want now

Drop, drop, my homies that ride chromies
Let it pop, pop, at the bar, Budden, them bottles
An' them shots, shots, my ladies, it's all gravy
If you hot, hot, then come back to the spot, spot
An' maybe we can bone, bone

Know that we chillin', she somethin' shakin'
In her thong, thong, gangsta, gangsta
Paper, paper, long, long an' for my riders all over
Now you know we wanna hit it, hit it
Don't stop, get it, get it

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fef5011829420c16ce2bc9ea881e5171

Getting To Da Money - Lyrics - Hustlenomics - Yung Joc

Title: Getting To Da Money
Album: Hustlenomics
Artist: Yung Joc
Composer(s): Jasiel Robinson

Lyric:
I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting
I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting

I'm getting to da money 24/7, ain't shit changed
The cars and the cribs, all in my bitch name
I'm takin? Federal chances to make the bezel dance
Bitches lookin? at me makin? sexual advances

Nigga, ain't shit sweet but you know I'm caked up
Got murder men for hire now the murder rate up
If snitches on the block, now the tip way up
Block ENT, bitch, you can't fade us

Keep the stacks in my momma attic, blow in the basement
Hellafied lawyers make you say where the case went
When it's show time pay them haters no mind
I can make my money flip four times in no time

I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting
I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting

Every since I was a young boy, nigga, movin? them G-Units
Got the whole city supplied with packs and that fruity
Pop the trunk, money bags and crack, I keep it movin?
Shake the stack, nigga, chopper go brap, at your medulla

Who you niggas know, get money like me Mr. Sun Choice
Keep them pots of boiling water, straight drop so place your order
Got them bricks I'm comin? for you, credit card to the savings
Tie your wife up in the basement, hundred thou' where you lay

Plus I, get to da money like casinos
A young, Robert DeNiro, six K off in the earlobe
You know it's Carlito's Way, I hold that pimp yay
Girl and boy, fuck the drop, fake niggas I can't employ

I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting
I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting

Shorty, who you bank with? The streets of America
Who you roll with? The dope boys and dope girls, I'm tellin? you
What that Chevy sittin? on? Oh, it's them deuce deuce Derringers
What about your connects? Pablo from South America

Where you stash the money? That shoe box in the closet
How you move the work? I buy it and you haul it
How you handle hoes? My nigga, you call it
Tell 'em how the game goes, keep ballin? and stop stallin?

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, the Phantom or the Lambo'
Pop the trunk niggas got straps like I'm Rambo
And hoe is getting money, know it when they see it, nigga
I'm here now, you're old news, yeah, this my season, nigga

I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting
I be getting to da money, I be getting to da money
I be getting to da money, I be getting

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49d4521a12295646ba4f041e20d79265

G Style - Lyrics - Home Invasion - Ice T

Title: G Style
Album: Home Invasion
Artist: Ice T
Composer(s): Wendell Winston, Henry Garcia, Tracy Marrow

Lyric:
Yeah, right about now
Motherfuckers is layin for a nigga like me, Ice-T
To bust some freestyle shit but I don't do that
I just cold lounge up here at the ammo dump
With my nigga Aladdin, SLJ, LP and my nigga Henry G
Yeah, we do the shit like this

The card after the ace is deuce
So cut the nigga loose on the 3
That's me, the motherfuckin', T
I got ride on my surfboard, rhyme hard
But only buy the shit that I can't afford
That's everything, that's why I truck big fat rings

'Cause in the motherland gold is for kings
I got backup to jack up, punks who try to act up
Do a world tour, watch the big bank stack up
Motherfuckers get dropped with the quickness
I got an ill left and a right fist make mistakes
And you'll lose or you might die 'cause

I'm the wrong Ice for your bruise and that's no lie
Meanwhile the penile is stacked to the top
With my niggaz, mostly for squeezin' triggas
I call 'em homies, pigs call 'em crooks
So I write and put bucks on they books

I give a fuck about a cop or a G man
They all talk shit, their breath smellin' like semen
I catch 'em in the alley all alone
Put 'em in the prone, pop, pop, pop to the dome

It's the G-style
Gangsta style

G style, the gangsta talk, I got a Teflon .9
And it eats vest, I take a motherfucker out quick
Just for talkin' shit, ride rolls, catch hoes like a mitt
L.A., Atlanta, New York, yo, my shit rocks
Chi-town, Miami, Detroit, I get much props
Because I roll with the hardcore G

Every street's the same street to me
I don't bullshit, I don't quit writin' a rhyme fit
K K K pray each day that I get hit
Motherfuckers try to flip on the Icepick
Move and slip, close the eyes and catch a fuckin' clip

Not in the ghetto no more but I do hang
Got a black game and it's sittin' on them thangs
I kick the game from the street not the slamma
Tighten up my knockas with a big lead hammer

It's the G-style
Gangsta style

Some of the times, I write my raps with extreme speed
Some of the times, I take the pen and make pads bleed
My mind clicks to homicide, bullets fly, ladies cry
A lot of people die, some nights I can't right
Stare at the blue lines, I think, I'm a go blind

Then the beat becomes me sit in the dark
And write a whole fuckin' LP, G Style, the gangsta talk
Never near soft, hard as a knockout 'bout
It's no sellout, I keep crime in my rhyme
'Cause it's my thing, packed with guns and drugs
And lots of street slang, A B C D E F and LAPD

Words from a motherfuckin' OG, ammo dump
Pumps the sounds that you bump in your trunk
So turn it up punk, what'cha 'fraid of? What'cha made of?
Pull the pin, set the grenade off, blastin' sounds out ya jeep
On every city street, nigga, straight gangsta beat

It's the G-style
Gangsta style

Many like to dress the style and act hardcore
Many motherfuckers are and they crack jaws
I like to lay in the cut in a nightclub, don't smoke bud
Drink suds but I gets loved, mack, cool
I scope the freak with the mad backs
Hit her with the gangsta style, cool, relaxed, bam

Put her in the Benz, bump, Too Short, let her know
Right off the top, what's my sport, you think long
You think wrong, you got it goin' on, baby doll
But I won't sing you no love song, you either love me
Or you don't, you're either rollin' tonight or you won't
She likes the style, 'cause it don't bullshit around

Tongue in my ear, real slow and then it went down
I gotta flip into a ill mode, pack a clip full of hype tracks
And then unload music for the hardcore beat down
No weak pop shit, strictly underground
And if you don't like the style as I get wreck
Ease back nigga, catch a knife through the neck

It's the G-style
Gangsta style

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75e9afee1c5e8e3e40fbe7a9c4420eae

Get Wild - Lyrics - Ruff Ryders

Title: Get Wild
Artist: Ruff Ryders
Composer(s): T Franklin, Jason T Phillips, Earl Simmons, Trevor Smith, Scott Spencer Storch

Lyric:
All my niggaz, all my bitches
Get high, get drunk get wild buck fool
You know my style, get crunk
Bitches bounce, niggaz bounce
And let me give you that funk shit, blunt shit
While I make you bang it out your trunk

You cats, talk slick but walk quick when the dog hit
The dog hits coming back to the raw shit
Aww shit, they done let me back out the gate
Back out to tape, back out to rape

Back off the chains so please back out the way
Before I blow ya back out with this fuckin' AK
Don't give a fuck what a nigga say no matter who he sound like
Make sure you know what the rain is but it's gonna be coming down like

Cats and dogs, hold up it is cats and dogs
Keep fucking with the dog its gonna be cats in the morgue
Twenty-two million, sold let's keep it real
Most y'all killers ain't even twenty-two years old

Ain't never felt the cold wet behind the ears
Know what real pain is, cried real tears
I go hard bogard and stand my ground
Fuck y'all niggaz, it's how it's goin' down, baby

All my niggaz, all my bitches
Get high, get drunk get wild buck fool
You know my style, get crunk
Bitches bounce, niggaz bounce
Let me give you that funk shit, blunt shit
While I make you bang it out your trunk

It just don't look right, bullshit coke don't cook right
The judge ain't throwin' the book right
Should thank the Lord that you blew up softy
Don't talk greasy you grew up off me

I ain't letting go of the block
And if I get a good enough grip I ain't lettin' go of the lock
If I happen to pinched, I ain't goin' to shock
I'm gonna to get aquatinted with niggaz in general pop

Stop but don't hate, ?cause everybody got a lil' blood to donate
The thugs'll go ape, the women'll come around
Shortly after that is when the jealousy sets in
Then they'll shut it down

It's just raspy nothin' on the neck wrist ware just classy
There's no way I'm letting this money just get past me
When all I had to do in the first place
From the beginning was get nasty

All my niggaz, all my bitches
Get high, get drunk get wild buck fool
You know my style, get crunk
Bitches bounce, niggaz bounce
And let me give you that funk shit, blunt shit
While I make you bang it out your trunk

Niggaz been waitin' for that west coast shit, I tell them to go fish
Blowin' purple in a purple Laker jersey wit' the gold kicks
Bitches be like Toon you a mutha fuckin' trip
Hop in the whip and lean till that mutha fucka flip

And every club in Cali crackin' it's gangsta town
Keep a couple of niggaz with me that'll bang you down
Now lil' mama put switches on and make it jump
Before me you needed Lil' Jon to make it crunk

Now for real come to Cali player take ya pump
My New York niggaz leave y'all wit' razor bumps
Now pappa raised a rolling stone, I feel like pops
In the absence of Makaveli, I feel like Pac

So even though I got the deal I still might pop
Right in front of the po, po you could feel my shots
Man, all my niggaz carry bangers we feel like SWAT
And that's the reason why Rialto feel like Watts, come on

All my niggaz, all my bitches
Get high, get drunk get wild buck fool
You know my style, get crunk
Bitches bounce, niggaz bounce
And let me give you that funk shit, blunt shit
While I make you bang it out your trunk

Can't fly, get away
You know my style
Bang it out your trunk
While I make you bang it out your trunk

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This Is Family - Lyrics - Fabolous

Title: This Is Family
Artist: Fabolous
Composer(s): Angelo Bond, Joe Budden, Paul Cain, D Copeland, Jermaine Denny, S Hacker, John David Jackson, S Novelli, Ronald Weatherspoon, William Hen Weatherspoon, J Whitters

Lyric:
Where the ***** all these ***** damn, Ran' isn't hot
I damage the block
I scramble like Randall with rocks
I'm that ***** in the gambling spot

Cracking jokes and drinking liquor
You still gotta hand me your watch
I'm in the kitchen with the pans and the pots
Razor on the plate, trying to figure out how many grams I'm a chop

Family or not, some ***** making plans with the cops
Trying to figure how to make this animal stop
Who these ***** trying to take down?
Break down, tray pound, eight rounds

He ain't feeling nothing from the waist down
Hit up, lit up, he never gonna get up
There's only one legend alive
The rest you gotta dig up

You acting like it's hard roast ya
I'll creep in your crib, and put your brains on you Barkley posters
Got no time to be boxing around
I got the ox and the pound

I'll leave you in the box in the ground
Got the keys to the game, and we locking this down
Underwater with the sharks, and we not gonna drown
Got the order from the narcs, they still watching the town
I'm copping a pound, they ain't no stopping us now, my *****

Hey, look, you could trip, clip spit, get your strip wet
I got the rubber grip Smith and my rich sweats
Player haters talking 'bout they gonna get Freck
I'm in the Lamb' sunk lower than the shipwreck

They call me bar-for-bar 'cause I spit the better lines
The white ***** got me rich like Federline
*****a G-pack, I'll show you how to read *****
You get it soft, then you rock it like T-Mac

The ***** good price, plus it smoke so speci
Three thousand full pound of some Dro pesci
Y'all *****only talkers
I'll let my homies spark ya

We in the spurs, that's faster than Tony Parker
This is family, don't ever cross my brother
Like Big Worm, ***** rather cross their mother
Mention names in my family tree
This ***** talking crazy like insanity plea

I, swear to god, the next I ***** give it to
Is going to a place FedEx can't deliver to
I'm West Philly Freck, yeah, I get dirty
I'm the best, hands down, like six thirty

Look like Michael J. Fox, I got family ties
Posing us can't be wise, swept across the family dies
Something small as a look, can bring about a man's demise
And whoever he stands beside, hit him where he can't survive

Throw the drop, or slip an object, if not then missing
Nine shot, pop a clip in, pine box the opposition
Put him in formal dress, right hand across the left
No autopsy necessary, determined the cause of death

Six shots across the chest should explain his loss of breath
Skin peeled off your flesh, I know you wish you wore a vest
That's a no brainer, I'm coming with both flamers
Spray 'em, but I'm no painter to this here, I'm no stranger

It's obvious, you no bangers, you dudes pose no danger
Your whole crew chumps, in the closet like coat hangers
Like purple broke up in the dutch leave you broke up on a crush
That's what happens when shooters choke up in the clutch

We gonna body you, and have to hook your wife to an I.V. too
Put both of your parents side by side in I.C.U
Closed casket so they can't have a proper wake
Don't interfere with family business, that's how we operate

Yo, ***** is letting birds turn the tables on they squad
Need help with a jump, got some cables in the car
'Cause they all become nondescript
When something bright is on your wrist

Like you repping the bionic six
Who wanna fire? When guns fire, your lungs tire
I'm an idol, ***** this Sanjaya, now who wanna try us
That four, five will spit, I'll slump you in the driver seat
And make you really ghost ride the whip

It's real talk, shade ***** couldn't get a tan from me
'Cause I get in the ring for that Vince McMahon money
Soon as his un-tuck BAM, talking about you touch grams
I'm coming through your window something like, Brother Man

It's just who we are, if I see yar, it's E.R
Vacay in D.R., shirt and jeans, g-star, tell me how they gonna manage
Letting off Virgina Tech's now, dudes ain't even safe on campus
Gotta spaz on cowards

Every twenty four, every half hour, ***** be trying to be Jack Bauer
So, let fam' keep talking
And you won't need 'A Weekend At Bernie's'
If you trying to see a 'Dead Man Walking'

I guess it's left to me, the popcorn slinger, to pop off *****
Callouses on my pop finger, pop off *****
Pop through, throw the drop, kick the lock off dump
'Fore them bodies drop out, six glocks in the trunk

Chef boy supplying, whip whop is drying
When they move that, more whip whop arriving
And my connect from Phoenix, the connect named Phoenix
Still keep the iron like my right hand anemic

For for the family, I'll be squeezing, no reason
Blood work, nobody leaving this ***** breathing
***** on the low, kidnapped my flow
Coulda asked for it, I woulda gift wrapped my flow

Don't gotta ask for it, I'm gonna sit back the fo'
Flip it around, let the handle crack ya jaw
East side, west side, I'll be in my Converse
This a convict rapping, it's a con's verse

Arm and Hammer mis-man, 'Los, Joey, or Ris-am
All they gotta do is chirpand them things are gonna blis-am
Shake down, fiz-am straight from the Brooklyn borough
That never riz-an, block-ay block-ay

Now if they get me on wire traces
I'm gonna die in comstaat
I got prior cases from riding with firearms cocked
Fire bomb box, set up by your mom's block

Go off on time, 'cause it's wired by alarm clock
I get his legs, you grab him by arms ock
We gonna go this liar harm while his crying moms watch
Last seen in Brooklyn, they found in a Bronx lot

Rifles on the roof, yeah, we got him by a long shot
We don't fire warning shots, ***** fire on swat
And if they get me, Brooklyn gonna riot on spot
I'm from the hood, so I'm supplying bomb rock

'Round here that's better than buying some Viacom stock
Look, you can't hold nothing, but I got a shell to give
I'll make his relative show me where the fella live
Ain't that his baby sis', get up in this Mayby' miss

Before I pull this curb and start swerving like baby sis
If he heard yet, bet that get the word buzzing
You send a message when you kill a ***** third cousin
Niece, nephew, they gonna need Tef' too

This'll a go in and out they chest like a breath do
You Clay Aiken-soft, you playing games until this red light's on ya
It's like the Playstation's off, Smith and Wesson work, Luger nine labor
Professional like they did me on majors

This is family, do not cross the brothers
I'll put you in the box, one hand across the other
A small price to pay, son, it might cost your mother
One of your grandparents, even your baby brother

'Cause everybody knows, everybody goes
I want them in coffins, everybody's closed
Related by the streets, this is family beef
So better not touch a branch on this family tree
*****

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