Buju Banton, The Notorious B. We do our job You think you mob? I'm from N-E-W Jerz, where plenty murders occur No points to be calmer, we bringin drama to all you heards Knuckle check the scenario, Little Cease I bring you fake G's to your knees Coppin pleas cuz this ain't your area Lil Kim, is you coked up, or doped up? Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the fuck, is you stupid? You little young ass motherfuckers Don't one of you niggaz got sickle cell or somethin? Tupac Peep how we do it, keep it real, it's penitentiary steel this aint no freestyle battle, all you niggaz gettin killed with ya mouths open tryin to come up offa me, you in the clouds hoping smokin dope it's like a sherm high Niggaz think they learned to fly But they burned muthafucka, you deserve to die Talkin bout you gettin money, but its funny to me All you niggaz living bummy, while you fuckin' wit me I'm a self made milionare Thug Livin out a prison, pistols in the air, hahaha Biggie, remember when I used to let you sleep on my couch and beg the bitch to let you sleep in the house, ahh Now its all about Versacci, you copied my style Five shots couldn't drop me, I took it, and smiled Now I'm bout to set the record straight, with my AK I'm still the thug you love to hate Motherfucker, I hit em up Verse Four:
Will Smith Escute "Live it Up ft.
Thats why i fucked your bitch you fat motherfucker music
Mobile Android iPhone Windows Phone. Get your little Junior Whopper click smoked up What the fuck, is you stupid? Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style 5 shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled Now I'm back to set the record straight With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherfucker I'll hit em up. We ain't no motherfucking joke Thug Life, niggas better be known Be approaching in the wide open, gun smoking No need for hoping, it's a battle lost I got em crossed as soon as the funk is bopping off Nigga, I hit em up! I take money, crash and mash through Brooklyn With my click looting, shooting and polluting your block With a shot cocked Glock to your knot Outlaw MAFIA clique moving up another notch And your pop stars popped and get mopped and dropped And all your fake ass East Coast props Brainstormed and locked [Verse 5: Now it's all about Versace, you copied my style 5 shots couldn't drop me, I took it and smiled Now I'm back to set the record straight With my AK, I'm still the thug that you love to hate Motherfucker I'll hit em up [Verse 4: