Z - Roc Boys - Lyrics - American Gangster - Jay

Title: Z - Roc Boys
Album: American Gangster
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Thomas R Brenneck, Shawn C Carter, Sean Combs, Levar Coppin, Guy David, Michael Deller, David Guy, Deleno Matthews, Leon Michels, Gabriel Alexander Roth, Homer Steinweiss

Lyric:
And the winner is Hov
My man, speech

First of all I wanna thank my Connect
The most important person with all due respect
Thanks to the duffel bag, the brown paper bag
The Nike shoe box for holdin' all this cash
Boys in blue who put greed before the badge
The first pusher whoever made the stash

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Oh, what a feelin', I'm feelin' life
Thanks to the lames, niggas with bad aim
Thanks to a little change I tore you out the game

Bullet wounds will stop your buffoonery
Thanks to the pastor rappin' at your eulogy
To Lil' Kim and them, you know the women friend
Who, carry the work cross state for a gentlemen
Yeah, thanks to all the hustlers
And most importantly you, the customer

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Oh, what a feelin', I'm feelin' life
You don't even gotta bring ya paper out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Look at how I'm chillin', I'm killin' this ice
You don't even gotta bring ya purses out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

Let ya hair down baby, I just hit a score
Pick any place on the planet, pick a shore
Take what the Forbes figure, then figure more
'Cause they forgot to account what I did with the raw

Pick a time, let's pick apart some stores
Pick a weekend for freakin' for figure fours
I figure frauds never hit a lick before
So they don't know the feelin' when them things get across

Put ya hand out the window, feel the force
Feel the Porsche, hit the frost
Ice cold, jewels got no flaws
Drop got no top, you on the top floor

Pink Rosay, think OJ
I get away with murder when I sling yay
[Incomprehensible] got less steps then Britney
That means it ain't stepped on, dig me?

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Oh, what a feelin', I'm feelin' life
You don't even gotta bring ya paper out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Look at how I'm chillin', I'm killin' this ice
You don't even gotta bring ya purses out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

Red Porsche's, rare portraits
Rare guns if you dare come near the fortress
This apple sauce is from the apple orchid
This kinda talk is only reserved for the bosses

Which means I get it from the ground
Which means you get it when I'm around
Rich niggas, black bar mitzvahs
Mazel tav, it's a celebration bitches

La Heim
I wish for you a hundred years of success
But it's my time, cheers, toast to crime
Number one B-boy, chain nigga rhyme

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Oh, what a feelin', I'm feelin' life
You don't even gotta bring ya paper out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Look at how I'm chillin', I'm killin' this ice
You don't even gotta bring ya purses out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Oh, what a feelin', I'm feelin' life
You don't even gotta bring ya paper out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

The Roc Boys in the buildin' tonight
Look at how I'm chillin', I'm killin' this ice
You don't even gotta bring ya purses out
We the dope boys of the year, drinks is on the house

Sweet, let that ride out, bring the horns back in, yeah
This is black super hero music right here baby, American Gangsta
Takin' flight, comin' to a town near you
Soon as I touch down I just want y'all to start playin' the horns like
Hovie's home, Lukey baby

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27b8e367301a2302044103ce45e23902

Z - So Ghetto - Lyrics - Vol. 3: The Life & Times Of St. Carter - Jay

Title: Z - So Ghetto
Album: Vol. 3: The Life & Times Of St. Carter
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Shawn Carter, Buddy Miles, Stephen Cropper, Chris Martin

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

Lyric:
Back at'cha
How we do
Primo, Jigga-man
History in the making
Let's go

Uhh, uh huh uh uhh
Uh huh uh uhh, uhh
I spit the murder, murder, murderous
Mur, mur, ma, murderous shit
Uh huh uh huh uh huh uh uhh

I keep the gangsta, gangsta, gangsta
Gah, gah, ga, gangsta beat, feel me? Uhh
I spit that Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brook
Uh, uhh, uh huh, uh uhh, uh uhh
Uh huh, uhh

Yo, career crook, nobody rap Brooklyn like me
Jigga-Man, Volume 3, I'm back lookin' like me
Stop the presses, baby girls, drop your dresses
B-K lick a shot for Big Pop' in heaven

Ever since I came through, niggaz got the impression
Everything I drop, out of the question, stop the guessin'
It's hot, flows provin' I pack 'cause my dough's movin'
My whole crew up in this muh'fucker

We spray corners, stand there like you got a cape on ya, fine
You'll be wearing a black suit a long time
I put your crew in hard bottoms
The priest is like, "God's got him
He never did nothin' to nobody but them boys shot him"

Brandish iron, outlandish buyin'
Bentley Coupes, not braggin' just simply the truth
We all from the ghetto, only difference, we go back
Back up in D and D on this Primo track, listen

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
Iceberg, Slim baby ride rims
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
You know him well by the name of Jigga

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
You can love me or hate me, Jay-Z
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
Roc-a-Fella lock the whole block down

Wednesday's I'm up in Shine, Cheetah's Monday night
I'm fuckin' with the model chicks Friday night at light
So I'm cruisin' in a car with this boozy broad
She said, "Jigga-Man you rich, take the doo-rag off"

Hit a U turn, Ma I'm droppin' you back off
Front of the club, "Jigga why you do that for?"
Thug nigga till the end, tell a friend bitch
Won't change for no paper plus I been rich

Eighty-eight been hustlin', linen been crushin' 'em
Women been fuckin' them, huh?
You see I live for the love of the street
Rap to the ruggedest beats

Hall closet cluttered with heat
I spit that murder, murder, murder
That Brook, Brook a Brooklyn shit

Furthermore ma
We tote guns to the Grammy's
Pop bottles on the White House lawn
Guess I'm just the same old Shawn

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
Iceberg, Slim baby ride rims
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
You know him well by the name of Jigga

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
You can love me or hate me, Jay-Z
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
Roc-a-Fella lock the whole block down

I'm from the M to the A baby R C Y
So it's hard for me to let the larceny die
Niggaz see me in the streets with no bodyguards
Just two big guns that'll body your squad

Could niggaz be schemin' on me? Probably are
Think Jigga's a joke nigga? Hardy har
I spit Brook, Brook, Brooklyn every time I bust
Radio's gotta play me though I cuss too much

Magazine said I'm shallow, I never learned to swim
Still they put me on they cover 'cause I earn for them
Soon as I sell too much, watch them turn on him
'Cause that seem to be the shit that'll earn for them

I spit that murder-murder-murderous every time a verbalist
Iller than Verbal Kint is or O-Dog in "Menace"
I'm ill, start to finish, I rip apart contenders
I'm hot

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
Iceberg, Slim baby ride rims
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
You know him well by the name of Jigga

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me
You can love me or hate me, Jay-Z
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls fall in love with me
Roc-a-Fella lock the whole block down

I'm so gangsta prissy chicks don't wanna fuck with me, uhh
I'm so gutter, ghetto girls
Uhh, uhh, uh huh, uh uhh, yeah
Uhh, yeah, funk, yeah, with me, yeah, bitch, yeah
Jigga, yeah, Primo, yeah, gangsta, yeah, niggaz, yeah
Brooklyn, yeah

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17045b5042666411e509fe4810cc98d5

Z - Takeover - Lyrics - The Blueprint - Jay

Title: Z - Takeover
Album: The Blueprint
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Robbie Krieger, Lawrence Parker, John Densmore, E. Burdon, Shawn Carter, A. Lomax, Jim Morrison, B. Chandler, Ray Manzarek, Kanye West, Rodney Lemay

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

Lyric:
R.O.C, we runnin' this rap shit
Memphis Bleek, we runnin' this rap shit
B. Mac, we runnin' this rap shit
Freeway, we run this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit

The takeover, the break's over nigga
God MC, me, Jay-Hova
Hey lil' soldier you ain't ready for war
R.O.C too strong for y'all
It's like bringin' a knife to a gunfight, pen to a test
Your chest in the line of fire with ya thin ass vest
You bringin' them Boyz II Men, how them boys gon' win?
This is grown man B.I., get you rolled in the triage

Beatch, your reach ain't long enough, dunny
Your peeps ain't strong enough, fucker
Roc-A-Fella is the army, better yet the navy
Niggaz'll kidnap your babies, spit at your lady
We bring knife to fistfight, kill your drama
Uh, we kill you motherfuckin' ants with a sledgehammer
Don't let me do it to you dunny 'cause I overdo it
So you won't confuse it with just rap music

R.O.C., we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
The Broad Street Bully, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
"Watch out! We run New York"

I don't care if you Mobb Deep, I hold triggers to crews
You little fuck, I've got money stacks bigger than you
When I was pushin' weight, back in eighty-eight
You was a ballerina, I got your pictures I seen ya
Then you dropped "Shook Ones," switch your demeanor
Well, we don't believe you, you need more people
Roc-A-Fella, students of the game, we passed the classes
'Cause nobody could read you dudes like we do

Don't let 'em gas you like Jigga is ass and won't clap you
Trust me on this one, I'll detach you
Mind from spirit, body from soul
They'll have to hold a mass, put your body in a hole
No, you're not on my level get your brakes tweaked
I sold what ya whole album sold in my first week
You guys don't want it with Hov'
Ask Nas, he don't want it with Hov', no!

R.O.C., we runnin' this rap shit
B. Sigel, we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
Watch out! We run New York"

I know you missin' all the fame
But along with celebrity comes 'bout
Seventy shots to your brain, nigga, you are lame
Youse the fag model for Karl Kani-Esco ads
Went from, Nasty Nas to Esco's trash
Had a spark when you started but now you're just garbage
Fell from top ten to not mentioned at all

To your bodyguard's "Oochie Wally" verse better than yours
Matter fact you had the worst flow on the whole fuckin' song
But I know, the sun don't shine, then son don't shine
That's why your lame
Career come to an end, there's only so long fake thugs can pretend
Nigga, you ain't live it you witnessed it from your folks pad
You scribbled in your notepad and created your life

I showed you your first tec on tour with Large Professor
Then I heard your album bout your tec on your dresser
So yeah I sampled your voice, you was usin' it wrong
You made it a hot line, I made it a hot song
And you ain't get a corn nigga you was gettin' fucked then
I know who I paid God, Serchlite Publishing
Use your brain, you said you been in this ten
I've been in it five, smarten up Nas
Four albums in ten years nigga? I could divide

That's one every let's say two, two of them shits was due
One was nah, the other was "Illmatic"
That's a one hot album every ten year average
And that's so lame, nigga switch up your flow
Your shit is garbage, but you try and kick knowledge?
You niggaz gon' learn to respect the king
Don't be the next contestant on that Summer Jam screen
Because you know who, did you know what? With you know who
But just keep that between me and you for now

R.O.C, we runnin' this rap shit
M-Easy, we runnin' this rap shit
The Broad Street Bully, we runnin' this rap shit
Get zipped up in plastic when it happens that's it
Freeway, we runnin' this rap shit
O and Sparks, we runnin' this rap shit
Chris and Neef, we runnin' this rap shit
Watch out! We run New York"

A wise man told me don't argue with fools
'Cause people from a distance can't tell who is who
So stop with that childish shit, nigga I'm grown
Please leave it alone, don't throw rocks at the throne
Do not bark up that tree, that tree will fall on you
I don't know why your advisers ain't forewarn you
Please, not Jay, he's, not for play
I don't slack a minute, all that thug rappin' and gimmicks

I will end it, all that yappin' be finished
You are not deep, you made your bed now sleep
Don't make me expose to them folks that don't know you
Nigga I know you well, all the stolen jewels
Twinkletoes you breakin' my heart
You can't fuck with me, go play somewhere, I'm busy
And all you other cats throwin' shots at Jigga
You only get half a bar, fuck y'all niggaz

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704eefc2137b3027c37ff861084e0099

Z - Intro - Hand It Down - Lyrics - Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life - Jay

Title: Z - Intro - Hand It Down
Album: Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Shawn Carter, Chris Martin

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

Lyric:
Sorry boys
But all the money in the world can't bring me back again
Lay down, lay down
Gonna stretch my mic out in Ponce funeral home on Marcy
All those new niggaz stop there
But a lot later than a whole gang of people thought
The last of the real hustlers, well maybe not the last
Bleek's gonna be a good rapper, new, improved Jay-Z

I quit, I'm retirin'
Ain't enough money in this game, to keep me around
Sorry big, I tried honest
Can't go with me on this ride though
I'm callin' the shots, the bar's closin'
Where we goin' to for breakfast?
Roc a Fella y'all
Okay, I'm reloaded

Bringin' the drama, tryin' to come up in the game
Marcy
Had a couple of dollar signs to my name
Roc a Fella y'all
One of the best
Waitin' for my day to come
Just give me the word

Nah, this ain't Jigga, it's your lil' nigga Bleek
Reportin' to these motherfuckers live from the street
Game I peeped those, my mind so advanced
At nine I used to geese hoes for Easter clothes

Peep the steez, I represent for all those with twenty eight grams
On a come up, tryin' to creep the keys
Large niggaz told me park the car, keep the keys
Find a hoodrat and creep to Mickey D's

First gun two bullets, niggaz know I do pull it
Niggaz tryin' to kill me dog, who wouldn't?
Screw Gooden, I pitch in the PJ's
Lit off the EJ, I split Dutchies with my ring finger

You find a bitch that don't be cream, bring her
Last seen with Bing, he got dropped between us
Shit is constant, that's why I pack the Johnson and Johnson
For the nonsense who wants it?

I go to sleep with a picture of a Porsche on my wall
Man I'm tryin' to come up on y'all
Get one up on y'all, that's why I hustle in these streets
From sundown to sunup on y'all

Mama said, "Keep bullshittin', they'll kill you dead"
One week of this hustlin' brought a livin' room set
Went to Tom D's, niggaz mad, veins out
Copped the Jordans, two weeks before they came out

Flashy, fly little nigga
Nosy bitch from the third floor like, "Why little nigga?"
Bitch please, twist the trees, took a long pull, like bitch to breathe
That's my answer, life's like cancer and I'm serious

Waitin' for my day to come
Just give me the word

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9414d0a0ff46c62d7380c173d9b4cc7f

Z - Hand It Down (Intro) - Lyrics - Jay

Title: Z - Hand It Down (Intro)
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Shawn Carter, Chris Martin

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

Lyric:
Sorry boys but all the money in the world
Couldn't bring me back again, lay down, lay down
Gonna stretch my mic out in Ponce Funeral Home on Marcy
All those new niggaz stop there

But a lot later than a whole gang of people thought
The last of the real hustlers, well, maybe not the last
Bleek's gonna be a good rapper
New improved Jay-Z, I quit, I'm retirin'

Ain't enough money in this game to keep me around
Sorry Big, I tried, honest
Can't go with me on this ride though
I'm callin' the shots, the bar's closing
Where we going to for breakfast?
Roc-a-Fella y'all
Okay, I'm reloaded

Bringin' the drama
Tryin' to come up in the game
Marcy had a couple of dollar signs to my name

Roc-a-Fella y'all
One of the best
Waitin' for my day to come
Just give me the word

Nah, this ain't Jigga it's your lil' nigga Bleek
Reportin' to these motherfuckers live from the street
Game I peeped those, my mind so advanced
At nine I used to geese hoes for Easter clothes

Peep the steez, I represent for all those
With twenty-eight grams, on a come-up tryin' to creep the keys
Large niggaz told me park the car, keep the keys
Find a hoodrat and creep to Mickey D's
First gun two bullets, niggaz know I do pull it
Niggaz tryin' to kill me dog, who wouldn't?

Screw Gooden, I pitch in the PJ's
Lit off the EJ, I split Dutchies with my ring finger
You find a bitch that don't be cream, bring her
Last seen with Bing, he got dropped between us
Shit is constant, that's why I pack the
Johnson and Johnson for the nonsense who wants it

I go to sleep with a picture of a Porsche on my wall
Man, I'm tryin' to come up on y'all
Get one up on y'all, that's why I hustle in these streets
From sun down to sun up on y'all

Mama said, "Keep bullshittin' they'll kill you dead"
One week of this hustlin' brought a living room set
Went to [Incomprehensible] D's, niggaz mad, veins out
Copped the Jordan's, two weeks before they came out
Flashy, fly little nigga

Nosy bitch from the third floor like, "Why little nigga?"
Bitch, please twist the trees
Took a long pull like bitch to breathe
That's my answer, life's like cancer
And I'm serious

Waitin' for my day to come
Just give me the word

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7d48c7425066a8182254215d7dd03bba

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

Z - Some How Some Way - Lyrics - The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse - Jay

Title: Z - Some How Some Way
Album: The Blueprint 2: The Gift & The Curse
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Shawn Carter, Michael Mcglory, Brad Jordan, Dwight Grant, J Smith

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

Lyric:
Please believe that
Some how some way
We gotta make it up out the hood some day
Some how some way
We gotta make it up out this life
Some how some way
We gotta make it up out the hood some day
Some way we gotta make it up out this life

Whether we dribble out this motherfucker
Rap metaphors and riddle out this motherfucker
Work second floors, hospital out this motherfucker
Some how we gotta get up out this motherfucker
Some day the cops will kill a motherfucker
I don't always want to be this drug dealing motherfucker damn
Wish I could take us all on this magic carpet ride through the sky

I use to play the hall up fifth floor me
And my boys we all poor getting high
I seen the worst of the worst I deserve every blessing I received
I'm from the dirt, I planted my seed on unfertile land
Myrtle Park, Marcy, Flushing and Nostrand
And still I grew some how I knew the sun will shine through
And touch my soul take hold of my hand
Look man a tree grows in Brooklyn

Some how some way
I gotta make it up out the hood someday
Some how some way
I gotta make it up out this life, c'mon
Some way I gotta make it up out the hood someday

To old Nell, Sigel street I ain't forget you
Twenty niggas on the block trying to chase that buck
Nosey neighbors and haters keep their face on stuck
Cops roll up on the pavement break the dice games up
Behind smoke kids can't chase the ice cream truck
Girls fighting over Rollie young boys hype things up

Niggas fighting over Cold young boys light things up
All the petty ass wars fuck the night scene up
Remember Lil' Eddie man how he light mean up
Then they wonder why we light green up
Back to back steamer trying to relax but I can't
I lean up, ain't the L or the refer that steam up, that steam up

It's my head stress to the point I get a fever
Thinking bout the block and all the mothers and kids
That can't leave and how the Chinks gotta feed'em
For the rest of their life fucking wings fried
Vegetable rice, gotta be kidding, no breakfast, Cap'n Crunch at night
Our kids eating lunch at night in their beds all bunched in tight

No less than three or four, you know how it go
Two by the foot two by the headboard
Man I'm getting scared for them, yeah I know
That's how I feel for 'em and we gotta grip the shorties on the block
All they do is smoke weed and drink forties, cock their lower quarties
Enough to get the latest roc, newest glock and old Jordies

Some how some way
We gonna make it up out this hood one day
Some how some way
We gonna make it up out this life
Some how some way
We gonna make it up out the hood one day
Some way we gonna make it up out this life

Right here another lil' story bout this click I claimed
Another chapter based on how I get that game
Hanging round my neighborhood and bang my street
Sit and watch the passer-bys play my sweep
South-side sunny side blocks I run South Vegas, South Paul

Nigga all got guns
Over here we got this poor child, he'd that there
We know tomorrow ain't promise so we get that there
Fuck sitting in the living room guarding the steps
Working inside a slump house starving to death

Serving these nigga flippers, quarter-ounces and zippers
Agents snapping your picture neighbors plotting to get ya
Situations is critic I was out here to get it
Living it like a savage cause nigga I gotta have it
And holding back all the mothers for a minute, pumping hard dog

Erase enough to walk it down and fuck it all dog
Love being willied and your creek gonna rise
I'm be a nigga and these streets gonna rise
Some how some way, some how some way
I'm be a nigga and these streets gonna rise, some how some way

Some how some way
We gotta make it up out the hood some day
Some how some way
We gotta make it up out this life
Some how some way
We gotta make it up out the hood some day
Some way we gotta make it up out this life

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f542eee43057a8656809346352c3a198

Z - Resevoir Dogs - Lyrics - Jay

Title: Z - Resevoir Dogs
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): D Styles, S Jacob, E Sermon, J Philips, Shawn Carter, Isaac Hayes, Dwayne Grant, Todd Eric Gaither

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

Lyric:
Fuck, shit is real right here
Roc-a-Fella, LOX
Takin' the streets over motherfuckers
Don't get it twisted
Yo, aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo

Yo shut the fuck up 'fore I blast and Banned From TV your ass
With no mask, look at the camera like what?
Yeah I did it like them sick white boys the court committed
To the death of me, I'm spaz like I'm on Ecstasy

Drop 100 bars for real like I'm lookin for a deal
If I ain't hungry, who the fuck is, I'm worse than them African kids
I ain't straight 'til my numbers match the Motorola bid
And walk the streets up in [Incomprehensible] like I don't fuckin' care

If I ain't strapped that means I took 'em off my Nike Airs
Get off mine, y'all talk shit like little children
When I ride mine like bitched when I walk up in the building
'Cause I catch tans in the winter, with wild whores

Jet-skin, while you keep warm at corner stores
I make it hot, floodin' your block, the best way
Professionally, they'll find poison in your X-Ray
As I get roasted lookin' at Biggie posted on my wall

Takin' shots of Louie til I fall
Nuttin' to lose, just load the clip up in the groove
And kick rhymes to the poster, til I swear Big move
My team, you would think was on Thorazine
How we floss and don't give a fuck what it's costing

Yo, yo, pressure bust pipes, it's time to apply it now
Pick out a quiet town and tie it down
Make niggaz lock it down, y'all know where to buy it now
Beanie Mac I supply it now

My squad roll deep, in foreign cars with two seats
Couple of 5's, a 6, a few Jeeps
Bag enough coke to last a few weeks
In case niggaz wanna test, vest and a few heats

You really wanna test my name? And test my game?
Until you have me, test my aim? Y'all niggaz nuts, like testicles
Hit you up in your apartment buildin' vestibule
Perhaps it's best for you, to keep on walkin'

Heat from the noggin', keep on sparkin'
Platinum prezzie, Bezzie, stay sparklin'
Cop off the lot never see me at the auction
Pint of Bacardi darken, when it's hawkin'

Out on the strip, until I reach the margin
Not tryin' to meet the Sergeant, at the precinct
Eatin' cheese sandwiches, down for the weekend
Locked up with dirty white boys and Ricans

Now if I kill you I probably do ten in the box
Come down on appeal then I'm killin' your pops
You feelin' The Lox, nigga why you grillin' The Lox
If this rap shit don't work niggaz still in the spot

You bring it to me, I gotta lose your family
Gangstas don't die, they get chubby, and move to Miami
Shit is deep now dog but it gets deeper
Fuck it, the weather's nice and the price is much cheaper

I put it on tape, you gon' buy it, I put it in a bag
You gon' try it, y'all niggaz can't deny it
Lot of cats still tryin' to study my last bounce
Tell you what, get a beat tape and a half ounce

They got me where I can't be without my large gat
Teflon long sleeve, and my hardhat
Don't matter if I'm openin' up or headline
Doin' the speed limit or pushin' red lines

Six months in the county or fed time
I'ma be the 'Kiss nigga, until it's bedtime
Anything I'm on is a classic, any nigga
Ever had beef with, son is a bastard
Anytime I spit, spit acid, L.O.X.
Ruff Ryder you heard? We got the game mastered

I told you the pain was comin', you wouldn't listen
You tried to play me like a joke?
Now who got the last laugh?
Now take these bullets with you to hell

You motherfuckers is sick, don't think Sauce the shit
So many niggaz on my nuts I thought I lost my dick
Picture me fallin' off, I'm camera shy
Hammers fly, might miss you, but your man'll die

What's the difference? Either way I'm stunnin' your crew
I fuck to win, y'all niggaz comin' to lose
Somethin' to prove? Spit it, we can have a spray off
I lay off wet niggaz and kill 'em on my day off

Ain't nuttin' for me to bust a trey off
Murder the whole month of April nigga, just to take May off
Run with more Germans than Adolf, you light crews
Now I concentrate on your camp, like Jews

Flow hot like a heatwave bitch
Whips fatter than them shits they beat slaves with
I'm a meal stackin' nigga who pull quick, still packin'
For you Phil Jackson niggaz on that Bull

I don't give a fuck who you are, so fuck who you are
I don't care about a pretty bitch, watch or a car
I don't care about your block and whoever you shot
I don't care about your album and whenever it drop

I don't care about your past if I did I woulda asked
I'm too busy lightin' 'dro with a whole lotta hash
Far as this rap shit, I'm ten steps ahead of niggaz
Shootin' backwards, just for practice

Ride or die nigga, hoppin' in your casket
'Bout to go to hell with you, blow the L with you
Tell the whole world I'm spittin' let 'em know the shells hit you
I tell niggaz quick, suck dick and get a glock

My name ring bells like Sunday at twelve o'clock
I'm half past seven, bust six then eleven
You know me, slide my man my joint say reload me
I Ruff Ryde and pop a fella for Roc-a-Fella, spendin' mozzarella

I know pop you can't stand us 'cause you cock them hammers
Run in your crib, no prisoners, pop your grandma
Locked in the slammer? Nope, popped up in Atlanta
Crossed up in a drop I popped up the antenna

Whoa, watch your manners when my veins pop like scanners
Like raindrops you hear the thunder when I cock the cannon
Big thang, big chains, ain't shit changed
Get brained in the four dot six Range, shit main, switch lanes

Every town I hit, switch planes, bitch flipped big caine
Flow with no cut, you take it in vein to the brain
Muh'fukas is noddin' and throwin' up, you know that
You don't wanna owe that man

He'll hit you, get the picture? Kodak man
Gotta, love for war, I don't floss no more
I just sit on my money til I'm above the law
How the fuck you gonna stop us with your measly asses?

We don't stop at the tolls we got EZ passes, nigga
Multiple cars and divas with D-classes
Iceberg sweat with I.B. on the elastic

Shit, beyotch, what the fuck, ya heard me?
Put some more beat on that joint

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07bd8706c2cdbe1e16f1626cb615b806

Z - Reservoir Dogs - Lyrics - Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life - Jay

Title: Z - Reservoir Dogs
Album: Vol. 2... Hard Knock Life
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): D Styles, S Jacob, E Sermon, J Philips, Shawn Carter, Isaac Hayes, Dwayne Grant, Todd Eric Gaither

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

Lyric:
Fuck, shit is real right here
Roc-a-Fella, Lox, takin' the streets over motherfuckers
Don't get it twisted
Yo, aiyyo, aiyyo, aiyyo

Yo shut the fuck up 'fore I blast and banned from T.V. your ass
With no mask, look at the camera like what?
Yeah I did it like them sick white boys the court committed
To the death of me, I'm spaz like I'm on Ecstasy
Drop 100 bars for real like I'm lookin' for a deal
If I ain't hungry, who the fuck is, I'm worse than them African kids
I ain't straight 'til my numbers match the Motorola bid
And walk the streets up in the wild like I don't fuckin' care
If I ain't strapped that means I took 'em off my Nike Airs
Get off mine, y'all talk shit like little children

When I ride mine like bitches when I walk up in the building
'Cause I catch tans in the winter, with wild whores
Jet-skiin', while you keep warm at corner stores
I make it hot, floodin' your block, the best way
Professionally, they'll find poison in your X-ray
As I get roasted lookin' at Biggie posted on my wall
Takin' shots of Louie 'til I fall
Nuttin' to lose, just load the clip up in the groove
And kick rhymes to the poster, 'til I swear big move
My team, you would think was on Thorazine
How we floss and don't give a fuck what it's costing

Yo, yo, pressure bust pipes, it's time to apply it now
Pick out a quiet town and tie it down
Make niggaz lock it down, y'all know where to buy it now
Beanie Mac I supply it now
My squad roll deep, in foreign cars with two seats
Couple of 5's, a 6, a few jeeps
Bag enough coke to last a few weeks
In case niggaz wanna test, vest and a few heats
You really wanna test my name? And test my game?
Until you have me, test my aim?
Y'all niggaz nuts, like testricles

Hit you up in your apartment buildin' vestibule
Perhaps it's best for you, to keep on walkin'
Heat from the noggin', keep on sparkin'
Platinum prezzie, Bezzie, stay sparklin'
Cop off the lot never see me at the auction
Pint of Bacardi darken, when it's hawkin'
Out on the strip, until I reach the margin
Not tryin' to meet the Sergeant, at the precinct
Eatin' cheese sandwiches, down for the weekend
Locked up with dirty white boys and Ricans

Now if I kill you I probably do ten in the box
Come down on appeal then I'm killin' your pops
You feelin' the Lox, nigga why you grillin' the Lox
If this rap shit don't work niggaz still in the spot
You bring it to me, I gotta lose your family
Gangstas don't die, they get chubby, and move to Miami
Shit is deep now dog, but it gets deeper
Fuck it, the weather's nice and the price is much cheaper
I put it on tape, you gon' buy it, I put it in a bag
You gon' try it, y'all niggaz can't deny it

Lot of cats still tryin' to study my last bounce
Tell you what, get a beat tape and a half ounce
They got me where I can't be without my large gat
Teflon long sleeve, and my hardhat
Don't matter if I'm openin' up, or headline
Doin' the speed limit or pushin' red lines
Six months in the county or fed time
I'm a be the 'Kiss nigga, until it's bedtime

Anything I'm on is a classic, any nigga
Ever had beef with, son is a bastard
Anytime I spit, spit acid, L O X
Ruff Ryder you heard? We got the game mastered
I told you the pain was comin'
You wouldn't listen
You tried to play me like a joke?
Now who got the last laugh?
Now take these bullets with you to Hell

You motherfuckers is sick, don't think sauce the shit
So many niggaz on my nuts I thought I lost my dick
Picture me fallin' off, I'm camera shy
Hammers fly, might miss you, but your man'll die
What's the difference? Either way I'm stunnin' your crew
I fuck to win, y'all niggaz comin' to lose
Somethin' to prove? Spit it, we can have a spray off
I lay off wet niggaz and kill em on my day off

Ain't nuttin' for me to bust a trey off
Murder the whole month of April nigga, just to take May off
Run with more Germans than Adolf, you light crews
Now I concentrate on your camp, like Jews
Flow hot like a heatwave bitch
Whips fatter than them shits they beat slaves with
I'm a meal stackin' nigga who pull quick, still packin'
For you Phil Jackson niggaz on that bull

I don't give a fuck who you are, so fuck who you are
I don't care about a pretty bitch, watch or a car
I don't care about your block and whoever you shot
I don't care about your album and whenever it drop
I don't care about your past if I did I woulda asked
I'm too busy lightin' 'dro with a whole lotta hash
Far as this rap shit, I'm ten steps ahead of niggaz
Shootin' backwards, just for practice

Ride or die nigga, hoppin' in your casket
'Bout to go to Hell with you, blow the L with you
Tell the whole world I'm spittin', let em know the shells hit you
I tell niggaz quick, suck dick and get a glock
My name ring bells like Sunday at 12 o'clock
I'm half past 7, bust 6 then 11
You know me, slide my man my joint say reload me
I ruffryde and pop a fella for Roc-a-Fella
Jay, what the fuck, spendin' Mozzarella

I know pop you can't stand us 'cause you cock them hammers
Run in your crib, no prisoners, pop your grandma
Locked in the slammer? Nope, popped up in Atlanta
Crossed up in a drop I popped up the antenna
Whoa, watch your manners when my veins pop like scanners
Like raindrops you hear the thunder when I cock the cannon
Big thang, big chains, ain't shit changed
Get brained in the four dot six range
Shit main, switch lanes
Every town I hit, switch planes, bitch flipped Big Caine
Flow with no cut, you take it in vain to the brain

Motherfuckers is noddin' and throwin' up, you know that
You don't wanna owe that man
He'll hit you, get the picture? Kodak man
Gotta, love for war, I don't floss no more
I just sit on my money 'til I'm above the law
How the fuck you gonna stop us with your measly asses?
We don't stop at the tolls we got E Z passes, nigga
Multiple cars and divas with D-classes
Iceberg sweat with I B on the elastic

Shit, bitch! What the fuck, ya heard me?
Put some more beat on that joint

Play the MP3 online for free!

e06ca560d9f1e4fe05d9288953e7d452

Z - My 1st Song - Lyrics - The Black Album - Jay

Title: Z - My 1st Song
Album: The Black Album
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Shawn C Carter, Germain De La Fuente

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

Lyric:
I'm just, tryin' to stay above water y'know
Just stay busy, stay workin'
Puff told me like, the key to this joint
The key to staying, on top of things
Is treat everything like it's your first project, knahmsayin'?
Like it's your first day like back when you was an intern
Like, that's how you try to treat things like, just stay hungry

Uhh, uhh, yes, yes
Y'all wanna know, why he don't stop
Y'all wanna know, why he don't flop
Let me tell you people why
Came from the bottom of the block I

When I was born, it was sworn
I was never gon' be shit
Had to pull the opposite out this bitch
Had to get my ride on

Eyes on the prize, Shawn knew I had to
Had to had to get these chips
Had to make moves like Olajuwon
Started out sellin' dimes and nicks

Graduated to a brick
No exaggeration, my infatuation with the strip
Legendary like a schoolboy
Crushin' merely nearly every every chick

Heavy shit, that's how schoolboy got whipped
And got left on some "Just me, myself and I"
On some Trugoy shit
Had your boys threw place up, to a place of no return

Had to play with fire and get burned
Only way the boy ever gon' learn
Had to lay way in the cut, 'til I finally got my turn
Now I'm on top in the spot that I earned

It's my life, it's my pain and my struggle
The song that I sing to you it's my everything
Treat my first like my last, and my last like my first
And my thirst is the same as, when I came
It's my joy and my tears
And the laughter it brings to me, it's my everything

Like I never rode in a limo
Like I just dropped flows to a demo
Like it's ninety-two again' and
And I got O's in the rental

Back in the Stu' again
No prob' livin' was a whole lot simpler
When you think back, you thought that
You would never make it this far

Then you take advantage of the luck you handed
Or the talent, you been given
Ain't no, half steppin', ain't no, no slippin'
Ain't no different from a block that's hidden
Gotta get it while the getting's good
Gotta strike while the iron's hot, 'fore you stop
Then you gotta bid it, good riddance

Goodbye, this is my second major breakup
My first was, with a pager
With a hooptie, a cook pot, and the Cane
This one's with the stool, with the stage, with the fortune
Maybe not the fortune, but certainly the fame

It's my life, my pain and my struggle
The song that I sing to you it's my everything
Treat my first like my last, and my last like my first
And my thirst is the same as, when I came
It's my joy and my tears
And my laughter it brings to me, it's my everything
Treat my first like my last, and my last like my first
And my thirst like the first song I sang

Woo, it's like the blues
We gon' ride out on this one, ta-tah, be-hah
Yo, Hah, 'member you was makin' them dashes
For them niggaa at radio and shit?

Clark Kent, that was good lookin' out nigga
Carlene, who ever thought we'd make it this far homey?
Sha, they can't stop us, knahmsayin'? Lenny S
Dame whattup? Robbin' the bank

Niggaz thought we was crazy man, 'member, uhh
You had that fucked up ass handwritin'
You was writin' all the numbers that we was spendin' now
For the videos we was doin' ourselves, whattup?

Original Flavor, your accountant was crazy wrong and shit
But we we still put it together
Bigs, whassup? 'Member we went to St. Thomas and uh
But y'all my nizzle, your dog peed on homey leg and shit
At his crib, I think that was Rudy

And they was havin' a 'lil trouble with the pool
You and Ta-tah was laughin'
Emory was there, whattup Emory? What up Ta?
Hip-Hop, whattup man?

Ay, ay Hobb, you ain't, you ain't have no uhh
You ain't have no muh'fuckin' seat on your, on your bicycle
Now you uhh, the head of black music
That's what I'm talkin' 'bout right there homey G, whattup G?

Yessir, e'rybody in the Roc
Hey Guru, I know you spoiled man
I be takin' them shits in one take
You gon' have to punch niggaz shit, stick it, you gon' be tight

OG One, whattup?
I'm a little upset that you wasn't involved in this whole process
But it's all good, whassup Dash?
My whole family, my nephew, cousin' Angie, whassup? Te-Tee

B, B, B, B, mom, you made the album, how crazy is that?
Bob Allah, rest in peace
My pops, rest in peace, wassup A.J.?
Biggie Smalls, rest in peace
Uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh

Nigga, I'm 'bout to go golfin' man
Ay, I might even have me a Cappuccino, fuck it
I'm goin' somewhere nice where no mosquitoes at nigga
Holla at me, it's your boy

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06e67336ca14f225a2b718e65efb5d8a

Is That Your Chick - Lyrics - The Understanding - Memphis Bleek

Title: Is That Your Chick
Album: The Understanding
Artist: Memphis Bleek
Composer(s): Shawn C Carter, Timothy Z Mosley, Malik Deshawn Cox, Melissa A Elliott, Carl Terrell Mitchell

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

Lyric:
R O C, Memph Bleek
Jigga man, Missy, Twista, Sho' nuff
Yeah, yo

Don't get mad at me, I don't love 'em I fuck 'em
I don't chase 'em I duck 'em, I replace 'em with another one
You had to see she keep callin' me Big
(And another one)
And my name is Jay-Z, she was all on my dick

Gradually I'm takin' over your bitch, comin' over your shit
Got my feet up on you sofas, man
I mean a hostess for my open hand
You comin' home to dishes and empty soda cans

I got your bitch up in my rover man
I never kiss her, I never hold her hand
In fact I diss her, I'm a bolder man
Imma pimp her, it's over man

When I twist her in the gold sedan
Like I'm goldie man, you're bitch chose man
Jigga man, Iceberg with the frozen hands
Weddin' bands don't make it rosy man

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

Yo, check it now, yo, yo, your hoe chose I
I ain't gonna lie, what I look like turnin' down chocha
Drove by, smokin' lye, recognize a pimp, open your eyes
Hop in the passenger side of the ride, damn Bleek, can't speak
Uh, huh, okay, what's up, shut up and close the door

Act like you been in the drop top on the open road before
Fix your weave, then fix me, ever gave head doin' 160?
Ever seen a pair of kicks this crispy
How you love how the white wife beater fit me? M-dot, him hot, them not
(That's gangsta)

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

Tha Jigga and Twista got 'em screamin' like a demon
Fiendin' for the semen, Chrome gleamin' like the dome off Keenan
Gone while I'm leanin' smokin', I'm whip it in the stomach
Your bitch on the passenger side of me flashin' your money

Why you acting so funny? You know she been flirtin' while your workin'
Behind the curtain knuckles jerkin' for certain
Poppin' that pussy, sweatin' till no fluid is left
When I come in the party with J we gonna do it to death
You gon' ruin your rep, trippin' while we pimpin' these hefers

Playa lectures got me shinin' like a new Gator stepper
Must have been mad
When your ho put my stuff in the dash, bust in her ass
To climax I come up with a nab, the game don't stop

Legit ballers bendin' up the block
Niggas rushin', comin' at us 'cause of status and props
Suckin' and fuckin', loving it when I put tha dick up inside her
Can't help it if she yellin' with a ridah

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

Yo, yo, why you home alone, why she out with me?
Room 112, hotel balcony
How she say Jay you can call the house for me?
There's no respect at all, you betta check her dawg

She keep beggin' me to hit it raw
So she can have my kids and say it was yours
How foul is she? And you wifed her
Shit, I put the rubber on tighter

Sent her home, when she entered home
You hugged her up, what the fuck is up?
She got you whipped, got your kids
Got your home, but that's not your bitch

You share that girl, don't let 'em hear daddy Earl
It'll make 'em sick that his favorite chick
Ain't savin' it, unfaithful bitch

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

Yo, how dumb the pimp? I heard he trick
Bought a new five, maybe six
Copped that for his new down bitch
And I was diggin' that down since '96 shit

Memph man I'll take your bitch
Let her do her thing, give brain in the whip
And you know how it go when it come to the hoes
She can do the same thing to the clique you know

Your hoe chose, don't get mad at me
Got your wife callin' me daddy
Put her out on the street let her get that cheese
My bad is that your freak

But you know how a thug do
When a nigga hit that, it's fuck you
Keep it snug, tre deuce in the boot
Niggas wanna act, get a motherfuckin' slug too

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

Cool out homie, you betta keep her away from my ballin' clique
Keep her out of nightclubs all in the mix
From hanging out with chicks who be swallowin' dicks
From catz who order Cris play the floor with the Knicks
That can only lead to something unfortunate

Hot boy like Jigga man scorch your bitch
Play the floor dot Jigga man go first then we all rock 'cause we all hot
You know the boys from the Roc got them whores on lock
Got them bitches in the smash makin' yours drive fast
'Cause we get more cash than the average nigga

All dem hoes like damn, I gotta have this nigga
'Cause I'mma hot black, how in the hell can you stop that
You would fuck mine, how the hell can you knock that?
I'm just playing the cards choosenly Jigga man who ya supposed to be?

Oh, is that your chick, why she all in his six?
With her hand on his dick, keep lickin' her lips
Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride?
With her hand on his thigh, keep lookin' in his eyes

Oh, is that your chick? You better tell her chill
While you all in his grill, don't you know that man kill?
Is that your chick? Why she beepin' him?
Keep praisin' him? 'Cause that's Bleek and them, trick

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f28651e50a521cca623657b64128a3af

Z - This Can'T Be Life - Lyrics - The Dynasty Roc La Familia - Jay

Title: Z - This Can'T Be Life
Album: The Dynasty Roc La Familia
Artist: Jay
Composer(s): Leon Huff, Kayne Omari West, Shawn Carter, Kenneth Gamble, Dwight Grant, Brad Jordan

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

Lyric:
Geah, whassup?
Where's all my street niggaz, project niggaz
Real niggaz, worldwide
Let's reflect, e'rybody got a story
We all ghetto B, here's mine
Geah

See I was born in sewage, born to make bomb music
Flow tight like I was born Jewish
Used the streets as a conduit, I kept arms
38 longs inside my mom's Buick
At any given moment Shawn could lose it, be on the news
Iron cuffs, arms through it or stuffed with embalmin' fluid
Shit, I'm goin' through it, mom dukes too
Tears streamin' down her pretty face, she got her palms to it

My life is gettin' too wild
I need to bring some sort kinda calm to it
Bout to lose it, voices screamin', "Don't do it!"
It's like '93, '94, 'bout the year that Big and Mag dropped
And "Illmatic" rocked
Outta every rag drop, and the West had it locked
Everybody doin' 'em, I'm still scratchin' on the block
Like "Damn, I'ma be a failure"

Surrounded by thugs, drugs, and drug, paraphenalia
Cops courts, and their thoughts is to derail us
Three time felons in shorts with jealous thoughts
Tryin' figure where your mail is, guesstimate the weight you sellin'
So they can send shots straight to your melon, wait!
It gets worse, baby momma water burst
Baby came out stillborn, still I gotta move on
Though my heart still torn, life gone from her womb
Don't worry, if it was meant to be, it'll be soon

This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us
This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us

Chill dog
Second oldest born, from Michelle Brown my mother
Hell bound, grew with two sisters and one brother
Pop wasn't around, so many stories that's another
I'm thinkin' damn, how my older sister gon' make me tougher
When steel sharpens steel, I'ma keep it real
I'm tired of tryin' to hide my pain behind the syrups and pills
Dead to the world, stretched out like a corpse for real
Y'all niggaz thinkin' what y'all readin' in The Source is real

What my life like, you lookin' at the source, it's real
What your life like? Mine dog, of course it's real
Passin judgment, you niggaz second-guessin' Beans
'Cause you don't eat swine don't make you Amin
Dog you know a couple suras, out the Qur'an
I guess you all on your din and I ain't on mine
Stop that Akki, 'fore I send shots though your body
Make 'em feel feel hell on earth before Allah drop thee

I feel the line's drawn here, nuttin' more can stop me
Till them feds pick me up, or them boys pop me
There's only three things that make Mac not act like Beans
Amatullah Tisha, Po Aldin, Samir Amin
My seeds dog, gotta teach 'em that before I leave dog
Shit I know that I'ma see 'em when I leave dog
I come back in the afterlife
Like fuck it I done touched hell twice, what's the meanin'?

This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us
This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us

Now as I walk into the studio, to do this with Jig'
I got a phone call from one of my nigs
Said my homeboy Reek, he just lost one of his kids
And when I heard that I just broke into tears
And see in the second hand, you don't really know how this is
But when it hits that close to home you feel the pain at the crib
So I called mine, and saddened my wife with the bad news
Now we both depressed, countin' our blessings 'cause Brad's two
Prayin' for young souls to laugh atlife through the stars
Lovin' your kids just like you was ours

And I'm hurtin' for you dog; but ain't nobody pain is like yours
I just know that Heaven'll open these doors
And ain't no bright side to losin life, but you can view it like this
God's got open hands homey, he in the midst of good company
Who loves all and hates not one
And one day you gon' be wit your son
I could've rapped about my hard times on this song
But Heaven knows, I woulda been wrong
I wouldn'ta been right, it wouldn'ta been love
It wouldn'ta been life, it wouldn'ta been us
This can't be life

This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us
This can't be life, this can't be love
This can't be right, there's gotta be more, this can't be us
This can't be life

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