(Henry Hill)
For us to live any other way was nuts
Uh, to us, those goody-good people who worked shitty jobs for bum paychecks and took the subway to work every day
Worried about their bills, were dead
I mean they were suckers
They had no balls
If we wanted something we just took it
If anyone complained twice they got hit so bad, believe me, they never complained again...
(Mr. Fritz)
Table Covered in Fontos and Scissors/
Mapping out the plans to Rondo these niggas/
With thoughts of blowing hella cigar smoke and get up/
With made men...and having these convos for figures/
I been...wild hungry since Al Bundy was on the tube/
I used to have Bud and lots of shoes/
Older heads taught me speak softly and cock a tool/
You gon' be a king and they'll clock ya moves like Shaka Zul'/
I was just a...
Young nigga with visions of bigger pictures/
Spitting this shit with vigor, delivering written scriptures/
Fritz was...on the path to raps for a lot of cash/
Bitches with all the ass, fucc niggas that wanna blast me/
Business before pleasure, the motto for my endeavors/
Cause given the chance a nigga will milk you for that cheddar/
It's cold outside...even 90 degrees/
Summertime's killing season for the grimiest Gs/
It's all love till you stunting too hard...you know the rules/
Them niggas will load the tools and come like you owe em jewels/
Must think like a crook to beat a crook...
Must think like a king to be a king/
To me winning ain't a thing/
(Chorus)
(Mobbing)
Niggas know I'm all about my cash/
If I hear you say my name, niggas get up in ya ass/
(Mobbing)
All you other niggas trash/
With ya average nigga swag/
Talking shit up in ya raps/
(Mobbing)
What you cooking up is trash/
You be fucking up ya bags/
Try to push it and they pass/
(Mobbing)
I ain't even gotta ask/
Who the hardest with the raps/
You be talking but you gassed/
(Mobbing)
(Sir Locksley)
I don't know what you thought, but I fucking hate rappers/
These fucc niggas top percentile of the state's actors/
Stacker...hard as rock, I'm slate cracking/
These bird niggas ain't gon' fly, they stay flapping/
What's crack-a-lackin, Captain? Fuck ya little faggot faction/
Middle fingers to you niggles who think I'll let an average track in/
Smack you so hard you'll drop after doing half a backspin/
You all jokes and chick flicks, you never had the action/
My spirit different, you're weak, this got a Casper clashing/
Tell a bitch I'm attractive, got the ever lasting magnet/
Everybody gets a body bag, I have the caskets/
I look at broad for a second, she gon' bat her lashes/
I'm serious and they playing, I'm fucking ignorant/
Still diligent, pissing them off, fuck what yo city did/
They still curious, say they sick or some silly shit/
Got..these punches like Ali, shit I'm the prettiest!/
(Chorus)
(D. Hollis)
Got that shit up in the kitchen cooking/
Heard the feds was watching...got my pictures took and/
Feel like most of my niggas victims of Central Booking/
Life of a grimey nigga, the window of which you look in/
I spit a paragraph tighter than a narrow path/
Drop my weigh on you niggas...heavy metal class/
Good Fellas, Joe Pecsi with dinero bags/
I'm a hard nigga, nigga you a mellow fag/
Bitches going dummy when the Molly drop/
Any nigga act funny get mollywhopped/
I could cook the crowd when the shotty pop/
Throw ya bitch on the table, lick her naughty spot/
You ain't met a nigga this raw/
She ain't never felt the dick of a nigga that's this large!/
Put my grips on a bitch and I discharge/
Told my nigga I'll give him that Chris Paul/
Lob City!
(Chorus)
