Lyrics:
it's only right
Po po ain't around so I grab my pound
Money retaliated so I hit the ground
My life is on the line gotta hold my projects down
Can't
Project Pat to fall but the money piles
*** know I'm off the chain, wild as a child
There ain't no need to ask, gangsta's my style
Kept my street,
a hit
Or grab my pistol grip and take care my business
Cause they don't know who they fuckin' with
Call my nigga Project Pat cause I know he got my
Logic of a snitch, "You ain't know, but I'mma let you in"
"Why would I do ten, when I can go on and turn in my friend?"
Not pokin' fun, Project Pat is
with the limp shocks
Of hair shooting off the top, dudes you got to stop
For real, kill it dead
I'm going to call you Project Pat because you look like
cause racks I get that
And I got songs with real OG's
Shout out to my Nigga Project Pat
Got love for me people all my cars are black
Keep it real solid
like a superstar
If you really wanna know, who it be
It's Fat Pat, and the boy Mike D
Hit a lick I came up, I'm back in the game
I came up, and now
your friends are hired, all your friendships are fading
Don't try to cheat the dial, don't look the other way
It could play out wrong
Are you suicidal?
smashed '87 Music Seminar
Out on the battlefield like Pat Benatar
Hit the borough with Krown Rulers out of Camden
People Patty Duke-ing in the party, all
who ain't got no feelings
(No doubt, son, keep your eyes open)
(I got this, I got this)
(Just watch my back, I got your front, yo)
Check it out now
Straight from the Nawf like Project Pat swiss cheese the rat free Lil' Zac
They keep on talkin' bout a nigga got smacked
If it ain't no proof, this shit
(la-lala-la-la-la-la)
Once upon a time in the projects yo
I watched my uncle Greg put D's on his six-fo'
I washed it on Monday so he bought me a gold chain
Shopped
them 2-door shits wit no tops
Jordan sandals on, might drive it with no socks
What the fuck you expect a nigga used to sell rocks
Hit the interstate
to hit the bare guts
It ain't his birthday, I'm the reason he got his hair cut
Turned on by my stank walk, now he can't talk
But I'm a give him what he
And my only motivation was a pot to piss
See it hit me so hard ain't have a penny to myself
I swallowed up my pride and asked Skinny for some help
the night before New Year's, and all through the fuckin' projects
Not a handgun was silent, not even a Tec
Outside as I'm stuck, by enemies who put fear
by a handshake
I win by a landslide scopin' your landscape
Kick in the damn door give me your damn safe
They all say crime don't pay
But if it'll get
I’m out there like Project Pat and I’m selling crack bitch me a J ball like Kobe and Shaq Real Niggas in the building and I’m spitting the fax gone
Supreme comes to give his boy a pat and a pound, put his hoodie on the couch, his Timberlands up on the chair so his bitch can bring him a beer. So, this is
keep it on me
(Call me a Florida boy)
Top down by myself, but I'm never lonely
(Call me a Florida boy)
See I ain't really finna have remorse for ya
a snack
I was a young nigga on the block, watchin' cuz sell crack
I cannot save bitch, grew up on Project Pat
Itching for that drank, think I'm about
with the hits on my arm I already got the bomb
Now all I need is my first LP to go gold
Then I will have the qualm, I-I-I-I'm
I'm Kan the Louis
blame them, it's all just by design
Take it all with a grain of sand
Or leave it all up to me, I got you always
Always, always and forever
Always,
to your head
Travel all the way down to your leg
[Chorus:]
Aiyyo it's hell on earth, whose necks are gonna be first
The projects is front lines,
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