Pointing Fingers

Mase, Harlem World  Buy

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Mase

Mason Durell Betha (born August 27, 1977), better known by stage name Mase (often stylized as Ma$e) who was previously known as Murda Ma$e, is an American rapper, songwriter, actor and inspirational speaker. He was an artist on Sean "Diddy" Combs's hip hop label Bad Boy Records. He was introduced as Bad Boy Entertainment's next big artist during the summer of 1996 when he was featured on the remix to 112's debut single, "Only You", which peaked at number one on Billboard's Hot Dance Singles Sales chart as well as its Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Airplay chart. With his soon-to-be-trademarked[citation needed] slow flow, Mase quickly developed a crossover fan base as he was featured on original tracks, as well as remixes, by popular R&B artists such as Brian McKnigh… more »


Year:
1999
42 Views

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[Huddy Combs] 
Yo  only got twelve bars so let me cut to the chase 
Fuckin' wit' Stase  I caught a buck in the face 
I got the set me up  everybody's drinkin' Henney 
Kid named Timmy actin' friendly 
Grabbed her by offending  sure 
Hurt 'cause his game didn't work 
He didn't know the alcohol's about to get him merc 
He tried to french kiss her 
Yo  that's my man twin sister 
Swung on him  but he threw the toaste in my ear 
I shoulda known he had people posted in here 
So I waited 'till the coast was clear 
And when he walked off, I put four in his rear, yeah, yeah 
[Stase] 
Yo, Hud is the type, give him an inch? He takin' a yard 
'cause see, he the type of cat that be thinkin' he hard 
I told him if he gonna come, he got ta come by eight 
But Hud don't never listen what I say 
He always do it his way, instead of our way 
That's why he always caught up in some damn foul play 
Talkin' 'bout I said at nine, he killin' time 
And he ain't checked the time on his wrist 
He probably somewhere lying to a chick 
Talkin' 'bout he rich, no, it ain't right 
How he gon' leave my big brother Mase and jell overnight 
He wouldn't sell us out or yell us out 
But messin' wit' Hud, we ain't even get to bail him out 
[Cardan] 
I can't believe this nigga Hud tried to blame it on me 
We on the I-95, three jars on my seat 
I'm hopin' cops don't be prejudiced, if not we don't eat 
You know what that mean, shut up Hud, keep drivin' the jeep 
We got about ten miles, we don' did ten states 
I shoulda stayed, knowing Hud? He gon' gas you to stay 
I'm tellin' Hud, yo, pull over we ain't pissed since Penn State 
The windows all foggy, plus we got temp plates 
Now Hud steady streetin', not listenin' and yappin' 
Smokin' Buddah straight from Cuba, 'bout to wish this ain't happen 
I ain't tryin' to point no fingers but it's all Hud's fault 
If he wasn't speedin' wit' no weed we woulda never got caught 
[Huddy Combs] 
Cardie, when you gon' grow up? You need to get chips 
Stack dough up, switch your flow up, 'cause your single was a donut 
Baby Stase, need to learn to stay in the place 
And Mase, that's your twin, tell her stay out my face 
And Loon, that's my man but he floss too much 
He want to hang out, 'bout, but he cost too much 
And Meeno, that's my dog, but he talk too much 
And Blink, fake pretty boy, soft as butt 
Oh damn, if I get touched, we gon' all get touched 
Go against Harlem World and we gon' toss you up 
[Cuda] 
Hey yo, Meeno, Hey yo, this is Cuda man 
There go Loon 
Tell him what you told him you was gon' tell him when you see him 
[Meeno] 
Yeah, yeah, playboy, my man Loon 
Went out like a straight buffoon 
For a pretty face, a slim waist, sweet perfume 
Can't believe this shit 
Second week in June, second night in Cancun 
Pop Cris' by the full moon and the stars is bright 
Pray to God that I catch me a slide tonight 
But of course, Loon gets drunk then starts to floss 
Runnin' his yap 'bout the same chick he toss 
Same chick from tour, all I got was jaw 
He's all in love, seen it all before 
Sucka' for love, this is man for a whore 
And until this day, still goin' to war 
[Loon] 
Hey yo, you just mad 'cause my chick drop dead 
And you mad 'cause I went to Cancun got head 
You fed, 'cause I'm doin' it and gettin' more bread 
Why your block hotter than a nuclear warhead 
You more fed 'cause my pockets are stacked up 
While you spend most of your day baggin' your cracks up 
You fat f*ck 
Hope you get hit by a Mack truck 
And don't come around forty and front and get tapped up 
Cracked up, can't wait 'till this album is wrapped up 
I'mma take you to a vacant lot, dare you to act up 
So strap up, 'cause I know you don't like me 
But just know you won't get a chance to fight me 
Loon, All Out

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Written by: DAMON BLACKMON, MICHAEL FOSTER, ANDRE HUDSON, CHAUNCEY HAWKINS, P. JONES, AMEEN BURNS, STASON BETHA

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Spirit Music Group, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind

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"Pointing Fingers Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 27 Feb. 2020. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric/2583737/Mase>.

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