Guess Who's Back
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Talk to me man This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the motherfucking noise up We'll get right into the proceedings this evening Headphones are distorting, bring it down a lil' bit Okay, now we working with it The boy Face on the bass line, Face - Mob! Welcome to New York City, it's ya boy Young Hov' chea Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on now? Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!) Lemme talk to these motherfuckers, uhh Guess who's bizack? You still smelling crack in my clothes Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes Take it back out to taxing them roads When I was hugging it, niggas couldn't do nothing with it Straight from the oven with it, came from the dirt I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt You can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me Still with me, pain plus work Shit she made me milk this game for all it's worth That's right, these niggas can't f*ck with me I'm calling guts every time, drag my nuts every time Homey, we make a great combination don't we? Me and the Face Mob, every time we face-off Face it y'all, y'all niggas playing basic ball I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall Homey, I'm in the drop with the AC on That's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool! Guess who's bizack? Back on the block with the old Face Mob Mack Mittens and Hov' Don't make me relapse Back to the block with the fo' Cuz this street shit is all I know From the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon Trying to make me forty thousand and move Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons Plain clothes wanna run in my room But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawg Give niggas a break, nah, you know how the game go F*ck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no) I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chase I wanna f*ck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88 Don't got no wholesale, cause that ain't how I wanna run it Here take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred Gotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool Money is an issue, and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle Ya block warm, then I come by with the fizzle And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time We go to war and you ain't making a dime (ha ha!) Cause I got, shit to lose, a nigga out here payin his dues My baby walking gotta get him some shoes It's a new game doing, lemme give ya the rules Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues It's a new game doing, lemme give ya the rules Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa! Guess who's bizack? The boy B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-Brick Turn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered this You can smell it once the plastic rips A hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't have to pitch Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch Young'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz And keep ya whole hood on flip, like on box-spring Pissy Mack and shit, low old box of things Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of water Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter Till like deuce in the morning, with the old heads Slanging loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it) Still fucking with them crack addicts Still busting with that black-matic Guess who's bizack? Back on the block with the old Face Mob Mack Mittens and Hov' Don't make me relapse Back to the block with the fo' Cuz this street shit is all I know
Written by: RICKY M. L. WALTERS, SYLVESTER ALLEN, HAROLD RAY I. BROWN, MORRIS DEWAYNE DICKERSON, LE ROY L. JORDAN, CHARLES MILLER, LEE OSKAR, HOWARD E. SCOTT, RICHARD L. SERRELL, KEVIN WASHINGTON
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Royalty Network, Songtrust Ave, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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