Lyrics:
signing another deal?"
They ain't even get back to me in time
So I went somewhere else and I don't know who butthurt or what
I could give a fuck, man
Hold the phone
Let's make this house a home
Got me in boxes like we're
Tic-Tac-Toe
And you just called exes
Oh-Oh
And you crawl
In the back door
Out
like NYC
Dreams became reality
Three years later we are back
Independent making stacks
Only going forwards, never backwards, I'm on the attack
Dribble
by grocery bags
Whole school buying your shirt, now nigga that's fad
Just take a chance now
Its in your hands now
My bad on the low we were tripping
me, back in 1984
When I went to a party with the master plan
To step up, and put the mic in my hand
Everybody was there, from junior high to high
that are gritty
Fat Joe told you that the jealous ones envy
And the hungry ones be plottin in the cut by the plenty
In my close the thirty years, I have
Yeah, niggas don't know about Fatback
With the different color records they had back in the days
You know what I mean, the belt-driven turntables
back with greed
Somebodys coming in by the bridges
They got everything a poor boy needs
Meet me halfway
Meet me halfway
2-0 years in my own skin
2-0
back
No rats in my pack, ain't no wrinkles in my slacks
Counting singles in my Shaqs, stacking Pringles from the crack
Nigga I was on the bus with it
a good man, how 'bout that?
No way in hell I'm defined by the stat
Smokin' that pack, let me get it back
Let me get up in it, let me hit it like that
back
Help me to Cairo, make Saint Louis by maself
Git to Cairo, find ma old friend Jeff
Gwine to pin maself close to his side
If ah flag his train, I
"Don't you wear no black.
Go to Saint Louis, you can win him back."
Help me to Cairo, make Saint Louis by maself,
Git to Cairo, find ma old friend
to the low-life sport
Young bucks nowadays,
Even kids my own age,
Making front page
By getting locked in the cage
Pumping, self-destruction
And self-reduction
Woah, tats on my face I will never have a desk job
But I just got promoted by ya bitch, I got the head job
She ain't Jeff Bezos but I swear she got
a big body Benz
With my shooters in the back
You could find me in the
Oh no
Dont send the addy
Unless you bringing the hoes
You could find me in the
Oh my
the back
My style swarms over ghettos like crack
Blow in any hood and puff a blunt with any nigga
As long as we both got, it don't matter who's gun bigger
the movies
I got Angie, Jeff got Tina
Ready Rock got some girl I'd never seen in my life
That was all right because the lady was chill
Then we dipped
trail
Because he's always by my side, he never fails me
Whenever I have a video attack
He's right there by my back keeping me on track
So if I bug out
shit down in NYC
Phony rappers who do not write
Phony rappers who do not excite
Phony rappers, you know they type
Phony rappers, check it
It seems
yo' watts [ZZZH]
From Park Hill, the house on haunted hill
Every time you walk by your back get a chill [BLBLBH!]
Let's peel, who want to talk rap
Yeah man this the ep
This the hip hop ep right here
We on a this a Jayz type beat right here
Yeah I got by Yattaracks by the way
Reporting live from
the visitors
BabyTron, my name ringing bells
Like a solicitor sitting back
I don't play games like the commissioner
Me and Stan in our bag, salt and vinegar
734,
Woah
Look at the kid, riding round town, feelin like Billy
Letting these shots off, the top dog, ya boy be in Millie
Cross me, I kill youuu, Jeff, i
you wit' me?
(Yeah)
L.B.C., N.Y.C., D.P.G., Heavy D
All up in yo' frame, Pretty Tone type game, now listen
I know this sunny who be lifty off
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