Lyrics:
them Houston players
Got the two door Caprice
Black and red, like a Sega Genesis
Password first pimpin' or you can't
Get into this hangar
Access denied,
a blonde bitch
I got my own fragrance
Powered by 50, goddamn it, I think I made it
I tried to keep it basic
They wanna complicate shit
The feds on my phone
that didn't work
Fuck this shit, man I'm puttin' in work
Switch them plates, man I'm goin' on a ride
Black Bally on and I look like a fly
Give mumsy
mattress through the roof
This for my niggas getting brown paper bag money
This for my strippers getting black plastic bag money
We're talking that bad
for nothing
I'm a back em down like Shaq with this black 2-2-3 in my hand
Better pray that this chopper jam, like a radio single, man
Police radio
nigga Premier, with the golden touch
I never fall off point, like DeNiro in Casino
Peace to Black Gambinos and all my peoples
Dig the steelo I'm fightin'
the Juno
Americans look at us like we're Borat or Bruno
I don't bathe got cooties still get my kudos
Warlock from Pluto, black belt in Judo
I do a bunch
feat. SoulStice
[Intro: Killah Priest]
Uh.. Black August
Good Morning America
It's Killah Priest back at ya
I'm feelin' good tonight, uh-huh
an album full of rocks
Good luck to all the labels on lock
In '96 Whodini's callin the shots
It takes two to play this game
But three makes it better
Master
a mack and you turnin
Up the black in you
Skill for skill you the minor we the major
I grade your whole album like
A bad term paper
ZERO, don't be a fan!
[Nas]
The Firm, Trackmasters, Escobar, Allure Keep it raw!
A-yo the bridge keep rockin
we comin through bottles popin
Allure when your album
of the forty two million black people
Who are the victims of America
Aye yo we all in together now, all in together now
Hard truth soldierin', hard truth
to the hills, pimpin', loungin' by the pool
And I love the way it feel, of course, I keep it real
Garcon, come here yo, I'm kinda parched
I want a big Blue
y'all all soft
And I'm the black hearse that came to haul y'all ass in
It's for the hood by the corner store
Many try, many die, come at Nas if you want
months later the celebratory news came
Exhibit C gave the whole world a mood change
Electronic, niggas call my album detox
Cause they know I'm finna
Bring
the fiberglass
I classify your last album
As weakass cyber trash
I've amassed so many bodies I
Keep bags by the bags
Right or wrong I'm willing to live
Or die by
at the mall rap
Album ain't sell
People know that I'm all that
Was once told my career would suffer
A curse by an Old Ghost
While he was smoking a dust in
Go Ham for the green
Im grinding, the album $9.99
Reprised Im back to selling dimes
I never thought I say it again
You know its B-l-a-c-k on da end I
all-black clothing
All-black Rovers, unnoticed
Driving all over
Now we getting escorted, bro, instead of pulled over
And it's crazy, right?
Hangover, want
Threw a couple shots
Don’t get caught with stray
I know I meant to talk politics
But all we do is complain
I’m like Hov on the black album
What more can I
When holding a cellphone
While black in your own home
Gives modern day klansmen
Hard-ons from hormones
We have a fucking problem
I said, we have
feel, that, flow, that, vibe
Young black and handsome
Women know me from the block
Album yet to drop
Got them ticking like a clock
Heard i got a girl
Verse 1 *(Black C)*
It's strictly this game that I'm stickin to
and stayin true
tryin not to do what those fakers do
while I'm payin dues
I'm makin
(Hey)
Let's go rest more get slowed
I'm like F hoes they mentored I'm petroed
Get blowed by your girl like red nose
And every single day I'm catching
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