Lyrics:
spiked out, I can trip a referee,
Tell by my attitude that I most definitely from…
In New York,
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
Theres
Welcome to the game homie, take notice
The sky turns black still were the West Coast is
Welcome to the city of God
Watch the earth stand still, yo
still sippin' Mai Tai's
Sittin' courtside, Knicks and Nets give me high five
Nigga I be Spike'd out, I could trip a referee
Tell by my attitude that I'm
that thing again
Trackhawk it go too fast
Four by four the Hellcat
My girl she is too bad
Too bad y'all don't got that
Got celebs that listen to my music
I ain't never liked you
I'm rich as hell, I'd never fight you, I'll have somebody snipe you
My doggy Lucky on the edge, holdin' on by a thread
Just
If I see you, I don't fuck with you
Gon' act I don't know you
Got some niggas in the city
Tryna figure me out
If it ain't about no paper
Ain't no
than your video
Fuck a sadiddy ho
This that rap city flow, hit Flex
Let the city know, shit
By time you hear this
A nigga will be up on Arsenio
And I got
My style sit's on the brink
My life's slived in a blink
My mics spun ’til the greeks redefined dizzy
My city tends to sleep when you walk and
It
the city I touch down and I bob and weave, ay
It's a Midwest thang, y'all and they ain't got a clue (they ain't got a clue)
Why my Cutlass blue
And I
Youngboy, I'm hot now, I need a fan
I'm throwing up the westside, Sparkle City what I claim
Bitch, I'm sippin' Nupe juice, tastin' like purple rain
Woo, woo
Brandon Miller
Yeah
Giving straps to killers
In the red with the dead
I'm a walking thriller
Keep the hammer by my side
Bitch I'm bob the builder
Heavy
dodging the debacles like pot holes in Jamaica
We cut down the weed bury the paper on them acres
Martin had a dream bob got high I still do both but somehow
I'm dodgin debacles like pot holes in Jamaica,
We cut down the weed, bury the paper on dem acres.
Martin had a dream, Bob got high,
I still do both
You think Oakland, California, is a city of punks
It only takes a second to pop the trunk
And just like that, you know it's real
You're in
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy"
Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me
When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking
Mortimer is
an automatic shotty from a drum they call "Tommy"
Guaranteed to get you bitches from by me
When I hit every piece of your visible body, he leaking
Mortimer is
*Written by Bob Geldof
*From the album entitled "Mondo Bongo"
Intro
Rap by R.Kelly
(feat. R. Kelly, Fabolous)
[R. Kelly]
Y'all know what this is
so bob your heads, yeah
ladies it's your boyfriend
each other the next
And if you don't like it it's just like that
'Cause I come from, the city of dope
It couldn't be saved by John the Pope
But since
holdin' it down
Every car pass by with the music real loud, while bumpin', roamin' around
Tellin' me to make a hit but I really don't get
While they
tried to shake it, man, I can't believe this shit is real
Heart pumping on the 101
This shit right here ain't no fun
Live and die by the gun
Get you
"Uncle Bob, where you at?
Yeah I know your pockets fat but I don't give a fuck 'bout that
I'm glad we family" (uh)
We a half breed family, yeah, yeah,
the villagers dance
welcome to the city where anything is possible
american dream overcome many obstacles
rainbow .. just may lead you to a protocol
chain so
to get busy, busy?" (Yes)
No dice, chill, whoadie (no)
In life, feeling dizzy
Oh, having visions of the city and I go to war
See me in the day through
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