Lyrics:
I told y'all motherfuckers I was coming back (oh shit)
What now, nigga? What now?
What? Brewster Projects, nigga
One shot, two shot, three
I told y'all motherfuckers I was coming back (oh shit)
What now, nigga? What now?
What? Brewster Projects, nigga
One shot, two shot, three
musta seen me comin'
Ain't this life so fuckin' great
When the shit hit the fan
It was all I could stand
Yeah, well I'm a frequent flyer
My body's
scratches you, 'specially if you black dude
They don't give a shit unless the accused just happen to rap
And they can look good by painting him as bad news
unnoticed
Swear you niggas is hopeless
I should run a clinic for niggas that think that they're winning
On some coach shit, 50 Ms for a three month road
two, three, follow me
If your arms, legs, feet, and your hands are numb
You've fallen and you can't get up
It's a brand new dance, this is my Chris
talk about this shit a lot but)
Where am I supposed to go from here? Oh hey, oh-oh-oh
Really I have no idea
All I know is every time I think I hit my
I think about them
Can't hear it coming down the hallway stairs from the parking lot
It's too loud
Three's not a crowd all up in it
Slow fire
luck
Like ahuh yeu yeu get hit by a truck
Playin' catch a girl, fuck a girl
Throw her in a sandwich
Just a young boy doing grown man shit
looking for any excuse to just cut loose
So this'll be the part of the song that they drop the needle on
And hell breaks loose
This is when shit hits
in my face, so gimme three feet
'Cause when we creep, no more than three deep, niggas see sheep
Bloodhounds found your shit buried in the mud
said, "what we doin'?," I said to I'm, let's chop
So now the people finally get three of the best locked
Never be another choppers comin' so let's rock,
a step
I can make a hundred thousand just sitting by the steps
I can count a hundred thousand with my feet in the chair
I can pull the baddest broad in
rapper about to blow
But his album came, and it was not good
I think it went lead or double copper-wood
So the silly little fans, they were misled
By
harder to play me
Than to fiddle backwards
Don't act like you knew my tactics
Cause when it hit's the fan
You know I stand last
I see through your true
like)
Hit me on my line when it's like 2 or 3
If it's cool with you, then it's cool with me
(yeah)
And i'm still taking your bitch (laughing)
up
Ay yo I'm slippin', I'm fallin', I can't get up
Ay yo I'm slippin', I'm fallin', I gots to get up
Get me back on my feet so I can tear shit up
outselling you
By 29 I had three albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't really do
Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin' food
But
wanna hit twice
If I hit twice, wanna hit three times
I wanna see my name live when I'm gone
I'm gonna write it, put it in a song
All my real fans
spot by just givin' in?
How you gon' treat this shit like you gon' get to live again?
How you gettin' hype off one hit? Do that shit again
How you got
Like I said, lil' bitch, my shit be bussing it hit in 3D
Yeah we spinning round this bitch just like a fan, like DVD
bullshittin'
AR hit your truck, got your hood flippin'
Feet by the engine, head by the transmission
Yeah, and I be right where I am, mister
Me and my damn
bullshittin'
AR hit your truck, got your hood flippin'
Feet by the engine, head by the transmission
Yeah, and I be right where I am, mister
Me and my damn
the automatic doors
A couple fans spot me but, shit, I ain't on tour
I ain't trying to ignore her
But I head to aisle four 'cause my drawers stank as fuck
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