Lyrics:

(feat. Get Low, JT)



[JT]

We on our third song, we on our third song, heyyeyy



You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutchin

on the fo'-wheel, pushin quarters like niggaz doin dope deals

Fo' cut 50 like a verse and a half

I cut the brick and now we countin the math, we 'bout that birdplay

My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it

Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted

Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge

We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again

We got factors out in the ditch where they smackin a bitch

I got homies out in the Bronx where they bustin at cops

It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground

Pushin a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsin

JT, another boss from the Bay

And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what'chu say nigga?

JT, another boss from the Bay

And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker



[Nina B]

Hey yo it seem to me like e'rybody got they own truth

Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths

I play the game I was born to score

But I'm a lil' too cute for them corner stores

A little too, known, to stand on the block

And a lil' too eager to sit in the spot

Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side

Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide

Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside

Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride

And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rappin

This lump of Satan I'm packin thrash 'em with a major passion

I slash ya face and fracture you flashin in the latest fashion

And have you dashin from Manhattan all the way to Aspen

Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin

Step ya game up



[instrumental break]



[unknown Get Low male]

Listen, before I get up in the mornin I ask the Lord for strength

Tryin to get my niggaz out the hood, you know how the forces get

It's like the devil got a hold of my neck

And I'm gettin this change runnin 'round reppin my set

Momma used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed

Must be out there gettin some money

But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go

For them birds niggaz'll cock back the calico

Now you introduced to the beef, what'chu gon' do now?

Bitch up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out?

A lot of niggaz is real, a lot of niggaz is fake

A lot of niggaz shake your hand and shake hands with Jake



[another Get Low male]

Fuck what'chu heard, I startled your brain

I hit the spot like a {?} in ballers and jeans

On some eighty-eight shit, more 'Raw' than Kane

It's not my fault she looked at me - you better talk to your dame

That's just, part of the game and you got served

Who got nerve cause Lethal hard like Tupac words

And, why y'all Chucks always actin like tough guys

You must be trippin or you slippin on mudslides

And in the hood you see it's different from one time

What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine

And I don't even know why I'm wastin my breath

I oughta be like Makaveli and be fakin my death

I keep that good shit it's tastin so fresh

And all y'all sloppy Joe niggaz yo y'all makin a mess

We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck

And spit in a hundred bars straight without breakin a sweat