| Disc 1 | ||||||
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| 1. |
| 1:51 | 
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Yea.. serious shit..
Aiyyo, this time it's for my family, we ride or die It's in the blood til the death, now aim for the sky My fo' blow for sure, for dough, for own land.. It's money, drugs, and hot slugs It's money, drugs, and hot slugs [Street Scholar] It's money, drugs, and hot slugs [R O C] It's money, drugs, and hot slugs Niggas said I can't do it Funny I done it The album is here, now who the fuck want it? I let niggas eat now I'm here to collect I admit they tried, but they ain't rep correct Now the dinner table's set and it's my time to eat Don't even wipe your mouth, get up, be out! Don't let the cars fool you, or the jewelry blind you My life's the realest nigga, I should write me a novel This for them broads that'll hold me down And my niggas on the Internet that download my style And my dog in line in at chow Just bangin with his walkman playin me loud And the nigga with that plate Choppin them grams, him and his man Listening to music that they understand And that white boy goin to college He don't know about the ghetto but know how to hold metal Them white boys, they'll shoot shit up They can listen to this shit, I don't give two fucks But back to it, sippin on that Cognac fluid In the Porsche, burnin the conduit This is ride music, get high music That M dot, hot supply music That's the answer, life's like cancer I thought I told y'all niggas I'm serious! It's money, drugs, and hot slugs, you know Bleek |
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| 2. |
| 3:40 |
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Turn that motherfucker louder
It's the Roc in this motherfucker.. bi-otch! Oh yeah, bounce, uh uh bounce Yeah, yeah bounce, come on Oh come on bounce, come on *Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Yeah, yeah, come on) **Do my ladies run it, fat asses and flat stomachs Throw a hand in the air if it's the year of the woman Or my dogs run it, let 'em know that you still gunnin Throw a drink in the air let 'em know you still thuggin Yo I come through, few of my man's, scoop you and your friends You, you, and you with the Timbs In tight jeans, Chinese eyes, Indian hair Black girl ass, let me pour you a glass of Belvi Tell me all about your past Let me console your soul while I palm your ass And your man did what? He ain't give you? He cheated with her, I can't diss duke I tell you this though, get with this dude I'll teach you about dough, and show you what this do (It's a secret society, all we ask is trust) But I don't freeze wristes, I just skeeze bitches Break up happy homes, just sieze misses You'll never get her back, once you get a yap How you love that? .. How you love that? *Repeat **Repeat Ay yo back woods rollin, rap you can't hold 'em ROC gear matchin, crusin through Manhattan Bleek is chillin, Murda is chillin What more can I say? We still killin em Bags we still dealin em, four wheels, we wheelin them Chicks like I'm feelin him - yeah ma, okay Black jeans and Timberlands give em adrenaline rush Ladies know the difference between them niggas and us We the R-O-C, and we don't stop They don't make a gun that we don't pop Matter fact they don't make a car that we don't drop Thought you knew they don't make jewels that we don't cop What you knew? You actin' like the ROC ain't hot Or the car that I cop ain't missin' a top And even if they don't make drops that kind I tear da roof off like I'm Busta Rhymes motherfucker *Repeat Come on, come on **Repeat Do my ladies run this motherfucker? (Okay) Or do my thugs run this motherfucker? (Uh-huh, okay, uh-huh) Come on, come on It's the R-O-C, we don't stop It's the R-O-C, we don't stop It's the R-O-C, we don't stop Uh Memp Bleek, The Understanding niggas Get your mind right, ha-ha |
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| 3. |
| 3:39 |
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All my fans askin' me and shit
"Yo Bleek what you be doing on your spare time and shit?" This what I do man (nigga) Check how I do (yo) Yo *I gets high (high) Rollin' down the I-95 Ma' don't ask why I love gettin' high While I drive I can't lie (I can't lie) I puff lye (I puff lye) While I drive down the I-95 *Repeat I put this key in the ignition Start my V Take the clip out the ashtray Spark my trees You know that haze weed Backwood roll tight Belvedere cranberry juice mix light Under 30% tint ridin' bent Doin' a quarter Smokin' on what grow under water My life in order You know I got a pocket fulla sticky The whole BK, light a blunt up for Biggie And smokeout I gives a fuck if you got a skateboard Or that new XO out You blow the row out And holla I'mma survive or die I'mma ride cuz they never take a nigga alive I gets high Rollin' down the I-95 Starrin' through the rearview From all the shit I survived And as I ride by I just tilt my hat Put the car on cruise and roll up another sack *Repeat (x2) You catch Bleek rollin' hay When I'm down in the Bay Hey it don't stop I light a blunt up for 'Pac Pop my colla Take another sip of that vodka Hit three wheel motion Locin' in the Impala On them fifty spoke With two pounds to smoke And the weed come clean No sticks no seed Straight bud And keep the car weed scented Mami be like Bleek We can't, breathe in it Mami keep cool Let me remove the roof Take a sip of that Bel've And remove your shoes But ch'ya Recline baby Smoke good lime baby This the real green Out the High Times baby We sittin' on dubs Know what that like? Twist enough bud Mami get your mind right *Repeat (x2) I gets high Holla at the I-95 Holla at the bar Yeah, uh huh I can't lie (lie) Holla at the bar I puff lye (lye) When I drive down the I-95 (5) G'yeah niggas Y'all know Holla at me (understand this now, we out, One) Smoke one with cha dawg |
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| 4. |
| 3:09 |
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Ge-geah, R.O.C. Yeah yeah
Ge-geah.. yeah, geah G-yo, g-yo Aiyyo I'm back wit it, still tote the gat wit it Still got it locked, I sold some crack wit it Who could fuck wit it? Not a soul, I'm out of control The fo'-fo' blow out of control Blow yo' mind outta that hole.. .. M.E.M. get a broad out of her home, out of her clothes Into the Benz, get her into sippin the gin Twistin the lye, get her into pushin the 5 Then we fly out of the state.. let shots out of the 8 They go in and out of your face You want spend? I take 10 out of the safe You want drink? Take a bottle, out of the case Then we.. get into somethin, get into touchin Get into fuckin - mami, no frontin Shit, I got cake (geah) I got weight (geah) Shit you wanna chill, mama, pick a state (let's go) *Let's get high - first class seat on me We get low - hotel fee on me Let's get high - lay back, roll up weed We get low - Bel've on the rocks, apple martini *Repeat I'm in the S-5, all black, no tint with a nice dime - all ass, no tits Still, rippin the glock (Bleek) playin the block Fuckin with mine - M.E.M., gettin it hot Gettin it popped, gettin it jumped, gettin it crunk And you don't wanna get slump duke, get in the trunk Got a pound of that green, to get in New York Get it through customs; Bleek ain't tryin to get caught but get this - the fifth will get you support Not that help - that life situation get short Gettin with ma, Bleek still gettin her high End up, gettin her somethin she ain't get in her life She fuckin with them real niggaz who get low, who get dough who got cake - baby, but get mo' And I get hoes, but yo' bitch, I got The same jewels, I got rid of you not (let's go) *Repeat (x2) Let's get high.. we get low.. (x4) |
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| 5. |
| 2:06 |
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You bout to witness somethin like no other
The sky gon' get dark, streets gon' clutter Weak-ass niggaz out there gon' suffer Vets gon' quit, it's gettin hectic (uhh) The shit got deep - right about the time when the year skipped a beat, that's when my shit hit the street Shit gon' shake up, squads gon' break up Coats gon' get pulled, niggaz gon' wake up Everybody want see a chance to eat and chance the streets, you know they gon' 'vance police Like the time they shackled me from hands to feet cause I gave the jail system, a chance to speak You know the cops wanna trap me up, the block wanna clap me up It won't stop 'til they wrap me up (E'rything signed and sealed nigga) Gat be tucked, heat gon' back me up R.O.C. - Bleek come on nigga, back me up {*beat changes*} Yeah.. yo.. Aiyyo Memph the young God, boss of this game Got my part locked, I does my thang Don't mistake me, I tote them thangs Glock fo' pop off, knocks off thangs Whole squad here, you know my click Petit nice thing, you know my bitch Wide body truck, you know my whip Cop that rock that pop that shit y'all niggaz, talk about, ain't really got Me, I think dog, you not really hot The hood I be, I stay in the drop My hood, yo' hood, I'll lock any block East to West Coast, Chi-Town baby I come through, it's my town baby A.T.L., I yell "Whattup my baby?" Hit that, get that, bye bye baby! {*beat changes*} Uh-huh uhh.. Guess who? Young Hov' Bout to tear this motherfucker DOWN! Holla at me! It goes.. uhh Jigga Man huh, it goes.. Nah! Y'all niggaz ain't gon' have me rappin on the bullshit man I.. I need some real music So when we count to three and shit Ya gonna drop some real shit One, two, three - let's go! |
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| 6. |
| 4:06 |
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Remix.. I'm sorry I ain't
I ain't get right back at'cha niggas I've been a little busy with this dynasy shit But uh got my mind right, money been right I'm ready for war Young Hovah, holla yeah I got the fifth niggas You have to pick niggas off of the ground When I pick niggas off with tha pound Go get your click nigga This nigga running with clowns I'm a rich nigga I get you clipped at cost right now Niggas forget niggas as soon as your coffen off in the ground Family man, look at your kids orphans now Used to just smack rappers I'm extorting them now Taking all that's important to them now down to your bitch Nigga you sick fronting like you tougher than what you are Till the gun is coming thru the drivers side of your car Using my name in vein like I won't damage the boy You think niggas was shooting you out of canons before (I'm that nigga) Niggas is pompous, first they in Evil Kanevil jumpers Than they turning over Rovers like they want it with Hovah It's not about rich and po', nigga, it's about Richard Poe Understand I'm here to get this dough It ain't about Brooklyn or Harlem No more them it's about fame or stardom It's about me being on blocks you borrowed from I'm setting myself apart from rappers who use other peoples names So other motherfuckers can watch 'em It's as sample as this - y'all niggas get off my dick I'll let you eat after I get off my bricks The world's most dangerous clique; R.O.C. - mind right bitch *I got my mind right, money right (yeah) Ready for war (uh-huh) Nigga, we ready for y'all I got my mind right, money right (yeah) Ready for wa (uh-huh) Nigga betta study your forms *Repeat If there's wars with my dogs, it's war with H Act pumped and get left with a sawed off face Respect carter, respect the R.O.C or respect the shots Or respect the shots 21 thrown out the heckle or cock The Co'd's no respect for the cops Even if the park right next To the spot we setting up shop I got my mind and my cash right, a bad wife Gripping a bag tight while yall living a mad life I chase down niggas, shake down niggas Head back to the honeycomb to break down figures I love 38's but the trey pounds bigger Throw in the bank, trucks the size of tanks now nigga I don't rap for pleasure I rap for chedder Guns clap for treasure straight like that forever H, Bleek & Jay on a track together It's a wrap for y'all dog We ready for war *Repeat (x2) I keep the gun tucked nigga Which one of you tough Which one of think you can go around with the pump My clique for real I ain't gotta talk no more One in the leg, bet he won't walk no more Ladies love me, why? Cuz I give em backshots Niggas wanna throw slugs but I bust back shots It ain't even about trying to diss these niggas It's about these niggas ain't built for these niggas The R.O. yeah we simply street You niggas cotton candy you simply sweet I let the fifth spit without the red dot I point and pop, pop, pop and drop I got my mind right, money right ready for war For that doe Bleek bustin that for This how real we get deep in the streets kid The R.O.C. exclusive remix motherfucker I got my mind right, money right And it's not right here Who want a war? Nigga I'm right here Get mind right, your money light Don't make me come out there Snatch your whore and get it done right there Little niggas ain't ready for war Better get ready for bed Buck shot land at your head Buck shots right at your head Sit you niggas in a permanent chair Give you niggas permanent stares Shut down the party with the cut down shotti Make doctor, cut down your body Keep a hammer fuck a strong arm robbery I blast I push the gas on the road part Johnny I'm fast stay on the road so the law can't find me In some quiet town tying it down That's right Mac still supplying it now By the pounds, stop trying it now I got my mind right nigga |
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| 7. |
| 4:12 |
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Yeah Sup wit' these lame-ass niggas, man?
I'm tellin' you Niggas keep runnin' to this rap shit You kna' mean? Like y'all built like that Ya'll niggas betta pick up a basketball, or somethin' Ya'll niggas ain't ready for this shit If a nigga know the Memph I ain't the type to front I'll put any gun to you What type you want? Supply any drug for you What high you want? Bag any chick for you Nicer slut Yeah, I push hot fees My niggas got cheese You run around frontin' Like you niggas got keys You never flipped burgers Your krew, I ain't heard of Matter of fact, I'll murder ya I heard you niggas spit shit But it's indirect Say my name And see where I end this tech I got a lot of love for this But dawg, I'm real When it's beef, it's beef When it's rap, it's real Nuttin' between Alot of frontin' I seen I done analyzed this game It's nuttin' but schemes New ways to sell records I aim for it Put it out if it's hot Not, Just ignore it *We them hustlers And that's who ya'll know We get low, get dough Flip gold for sho' We them gangstas That's who we be We got cheese Pop three for R-O-C *Repeat Yo, yo This is my ghetto I eat, sleep, breathe here To tell the truth, dawg None of us gon' leave here We die young, go to jail for murder 1 On a come-up, nigga And that's where I'm from I done learned from that Puff and that Lopez shit I ain't runnin' in no club on some loco shit I'mma catch you when you sit Put 4 in yo whip Catch your girl in the club Put nut in your bitch Niggas wanna see the Memph go and lose his cool Go and use his tool Nigga, use the fool You could bootleg my shit I want me a chunk, deuce I'm not a chump, I'll leave you slumped in the trunk What part of that you don't understand? Or ain't hear? Misinterpurate? Dawg, I put WORK in I got a name, and my shit sound phenomenol Still keep them thangs Next to the abdomenol *Repeat (x2) Uh, uh, uh Yeah Before these rhymes I was bustin' these nines Before these raps I was bustin' my gat Before the vocal groups I spoke with the truth Why do catz wanna muffle my speech? Imagine my raps If I wasn't in touch with the street On the block, deep Wit my peeps touchin' the heat I'm used to crack, now i'm slingin' raps Huster wit beats You niggas is lame You catz can't touch what I reach And quiet as kept You niggas can't hush what I speech My story's too deep Life real, clear as the streets See my iced grill, hear my voice clear when you sleep You niggas know me The cat who be tearin' these streets AIN'T NOTHIN' CHANGED But my name when I appeared on these beats It's Bien Mac Sigel was the name that they gave me The streets that is I'm tryin' to teach that, kids Cause some niggas don't know that they be clowns Ay yo, the sun don't go down WE GO ROUND *Repeat (x3) Nigga! |
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| 8. |
| 3:48 |
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I swear to God I'm addressin all types of shit
Tote big guns, with all types of clips See those cars I be in, all types of whips All those whores I got, all types of chicks See those sneaks I rock, all types of kicks In the double xl, in all types of flicks On my two way pager, typin' shit I made alot of records, all type of hits I was told to get dough, all types of chips Flip weed, coke, dough, all types of bricks I've been overseas, on all types of trips My coke come on a boat, all types of ships Catch me on La Cienega, S type and shit The new CL, type s and shit And I bust guns at all types of clicks Took four and made all types of flips, motherfucker *We got the S class, the Cadillac, and excel We blowin up y'all, we got all types of V's We got the chocolate, Hawaiian skunk, and purple haze Roll it up y'all, we got all types of trees We got the 4-4, the glock nine, and bright ghost We throw it up y'all, we got all types of guns We got the pesos, the dolla bills, the yen and mar Throw it up y'all, we got all types of ones Fuckin wit these records, I made all types of deals Fuckin wit these wild dudes, i tote all types of steel Fuckin wit these streets, Im in all types of beef And now, that I'm on, i got all types of creeps Movie stars, chickenheads, all types of freaks Hydro, chocolate, all types of trees Bentleys, widebodies, all types of v's Yamaha's, snowmobiles, all types of skis Know Bleek done it all, all types of things Know the squad rock ice, all types of bling And I learnt from the best, all types of vets You know I throw it up, on all types of sets And you know I hear it all, all types of hate But Bleek benchpress all types of weight When my shit drop, I'm gonna get all types of scans And rap the logo on all types of vans, motherfucker *Repeat (x2) Yea man, it's Young Hova Coolin out, young Memph Bleek, you know? Wha ya niggaz need man?, whacha do, wha ya 'vice man? You smoke, drink, do dope man, got dat shit man Wha'cha hoes wanna see us in, suv's, coupes, drops? We got all dat shit man Wha'cha like man, wha'cha u wanna see us in, five, ten bedrooms? We sleep in twenty, we sleep in twenty, man Wha'cha need, movie theaters, duplexes, triplexes, we got that man Wha'cha wanna see us in, rocawear furs, holla man Ma, what you wanna see us in? yo, you know what I need to see u in I need to see you in some briefs *music stops* Briefs!? *singing* No we don't do that..hahaha....holla! |
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| 9. |
| - |
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Yeah motherfuckers That's what y'all want right
That ol' gangsta, that ol' gangsta Check it out now yo, yo All I need, bomb ass freak nigga Hold me down nigga Hold my heat shit Stash a brick, blast the clip Gangsta shit, yo I need me a straight down girl, get down girl One to hold me down, one I can count on I'll even teacher how to load the glocks Sophisticated school girl Be on my block Rocking braclets, anklets the basics Petite nice body, skin and face sick One I could shop with Go uptown and cop with She not a thug girl but my down chick She know how to roll the weed but don't smoke She know how to cook the coke and bag dope Screen my calls Flip on me when im wrong Talk shit thru the night Throw it on me on the morning She like it from the back With my fingers in her hair I love it in any position Ma I don't care She like when I shine up them jewels that blind her And drive by the projects while a nigger hollar *I let her drive the V She's my pretty young thing I let her ride with me She's my pretty young thing Rap or robbery My pretty young thing She's my gangsta bitch I let her drive the V She's my pretty young thing I let her ride with me She's my pretty young thing Rap or robbery She's my pretty young thing She's my down ass bitch Yo you know how I do Dillinger duece duece One in the sleeve one in the construction boots My shorty, tote two, that's what she do One in her purse and one in her Gucci goose I keep her Prada down Bitches wanna hollar now She back out the step When yo niggers crowd around That뭩 my road dog And you know I unload for her She hold me down anytime I call for her Like at the time when I crashed the Jag She brought the Yukon 2000 black Through a screen and a DVD Twenites on the truck that'll piss you off In return I sent her on a tour thru Sacks With tengrand shoping spree to get back I brought her a five that look nice when she drive Put a glock on the dash Watch the stash nigga *Repeat Ay yo I ride for my lady Die for my lady Hold my 380 baby This what the game made me Im뭓 hustler, love it or not I be thuggin, huggin the block Glock bustin running from cops Uh I'm right beside Pull the gat out of my Pr-ada purse Clock 'em, clock 'em That's gotta hurt I'm your down bitch, your accomplice Ride for you baby and that's a promise I got your back nigga I'm the one you trust to count on your stacks nigga Cook your cracks nigga I park the pinsky right off the pounds Let off hollow rounds if shit goes down I'm with the robberies, holdin' banks up This pretty young thing gonna keep it gangsta what? Uh-huh yeah Amil-lion wha-what? Amil-lion, Memph man what? uh *Repeat (change 4th line with 8th line) Ride with me my pretty young thing Let her my pretty young thing Let her my pretty young thing My down ass bitch |
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| 10. |
| 3:34 |
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Yeah, yeah, yeah
Huh, huh Yeah, yeah, yeah Y'all ain't ready for this shit Y'all ain't ready Yeah, yeah, yeah Let's go, yo You ho's know I stay jig ROC wear sweat suits Type to pull up on your block 2G benz coupe and you know I ain't even got to spit no game I just show you the chain Then I'm getting some brain Hit it left, right, left Like I'm bouncing with drama Just light up a light Put that glow on the arm I let you sip Don If the Cris' too strong Once the bitch drunk Then she showing that thong As we proceed Got her rolling the weed Hydro eyes low on our way to the p's Ya'll know I go I be nervy than deez Niggas who scheme Niggas who be trying to get Bleek So you know I keep the heat I be ready to creep Nine low, bright though Get a quick thirteen Violate you'll see You can die this week Motherfucker I don't play I get this cream, jigga *Bounce bitch Let's get it poppin' You fucking with this thug Who love to go shopping Love to cop jewels to light up my crew So bitch act right You could light up to, but Bounce bitch Let's get it poppin You fucking with this thug Who know when they're watching You know I aint frontin' Show me something Bitch, you act right I might buy you you something Ayo you know the wife She the type you aint seen duke She love a thug When he dressed in them jean suits Wifebeaters With that ice that bling duke She know the Memph Get deep in her spleen duke I keep her jig Cause I send her through Nine West Your bitch bad but I keep mine dressed nigga Gucci shoes, Fendi bags and shit Princess cut's briggets all that classy shit And you know next step Now she giving me head 6a.m fuck it we could do it again And I'm a Juvenile bitch So back that ass up You drink, I'ma Cognac your ass up What's your life like I'm about my ends so get your peeps, I got a couple of friends And I'ma tear it up shit Smoke an ounce and I'm gone If the cat tight Fuck it Memph leaving tomorrow *Repeat |
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| 11. |
| 3:40 |
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This for my thug, thug Drug, drug
And guns, guns Come on, come on Come on, it's the ROC nigga Yo, yo Ayo niggas wanna hate me cause I run thugs Show no love and my guns bust And I got your bitch on my nuts and I push two trucks You niggas out here gone do what? Nothing but talk about it You niggas ain't bout it, bout it You see Bleek J-I-G from the hat to sneaks Dem them jordans but what's important You niggers scheming I told y'all, I got my mind right And my money right I brought a new tech and believe my shit air right The game nigga love it, leave it It ain't gone change nigga From my hood to your hood This shit the same nigga You see me hopping out Coping that Bel Dee I ride for my family Fuck could you tell me Its ROC La Familia No one down with us No one ride with us No one side with us We came gunning Busting fuck it, it aint nothing I got mine now get yours And nigga stop frontin' *Still these niggers hate me But I sit back and laugh I got cash, I play the back And I be counting my math And they will never play me I got guns, I got ones, I got sons I got niggas who could get that done *Repeat Yo, ayo I get's it crunk with that pump Or letting that pistol blow Niggas hate but I'm sticking this dick down they bitches throat I hear them saying He only sold half a mill You know what I'm saying nigga I spend half your deal So go ahead with that dumb shit I push tinted SUV Which is one bitch With that fifth in just one clip My fans asking me bleek, you dissing squads? Ma im dissing everyone And everyone feel they involve Who ever hating Contemplating about my situations Wanna know my moves Wanna find out if a nigga station Wanna know the cod's Wanna know if I get low my company Do I got chrome Nigger don't compare me to Jay-Z I pop my collar, hollar All about the drama blowing scama Pockets stay filled with that good marijuana But you lames hating Cause I'm in the lake on them daytons Taking pictures, hitting switches Pulling over bad bitches I'm laying right My dogs stay they eating right Guns looking right And dog I bust them right For that brick For that check For that coke For that flow Dog I let's them go Set up shop and blow *Repeat (x2) |
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| 12. |
| 4:13 |
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Yeah (oh), yo (oh)
Ay yo, you niggas know the Memph stay high and shit Eleven hundred on Sunset burn the strip Tryna choose which freak can drive the whip You know the five double oh You know how it go You know all the hoes be bad to the toes Pose centerfolds, smoke in the gold You know how I be, drop Z3 Meet one freak, Bleek two heats Nigga that's the rules, get at you dudes Niggas see my feet be like look at them shoes Straights dubs, hoes wanna fuck Before they get a nut, first head in the truck Shit we do 60, cranberry Bentley This what'chu want, ho come and get me You know the move It gotta be right before you push the Z Give me head at the lights *Everyday it's just the same though We just tryna see tomorrow As we try to pay attention to the people we are I'm just trying to have some fun Live my life and own my gun I know I can't live forever Yo, yo she coul push the Plymouth, switch while I'm in it You know how I do, we could fuck for a minute She know that the Memph give a hundred percent She can see the jewels shine from under the tints Might see the fifth reflect from under the tints Or your wife giving head from under the tints You know that the crew wil'in in the turtle top State to state, you know the hoes me and murder got Cause when they see the plat-i-num, that be them In the Range gettin' brains or the drop BM Who you know that can stop these mens? I'm come through in the Cadi, the color of gin Somethin' clear you can see right in Don't mistake the passenger, your wife was in I let her underhand me, give me brain in the Banji While I do a wheely with my hands in her panties nigga *Repeat (x2) Yo check it, uh ay yo Watch the wife, she don't play You seen how she scratched the CLK She hate ma-mas cause they roll shotgun And when they smoke they like to take shotguns And when I fuck I hit like shotguns Violate me, get beat with shotguns I can fight, I know I'm a boxer See Bleek in the hardtop Boxer Down in 'Frisco poppin' my collars Smoke champelly, all black Impalla 3 Wheelin', Hennesey spillin' Fuck the world, that's how Bleek feelin' Cherry red M3, that's me When you be like damn you killin' 'em, that's me You know me, eye-cocked, twin buggy eyes Blue as the watch face The watch stay faced - nigga *Repeat (x2) I'm just trying to make it, whoa, yeah, yeah I'm just tryna do what's right Though the devil tries to tempt me, oh no, oh no, oh no... |
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| 13. |
| 4:54 |
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[Jay-Z]
R-o-c Memph bleek Jigga man Missy, twista sho' nuff Yeah, yo Don't get mad at me I don't love 'em I fuck 'em I don't chase 'em I duck 'em I replace 'em with another one You had to see she keep calling me big (and another one!) And my name is jay-z She was all on my dick Gradually I'm taking over your bitch Coming over your shit Got my feet up on you sofas, man I mean a hostess for my open hand You coming home to dishes and empty soda cans I got your bitch up in my rover man I never kiss her, I never hold her hand In fact I diss her I'm a bolder man I'mma pimp her, it's over man When I twist her in the gold sedan Like I'm goldie man, you're bitch chose man Jigga man, iceberg with the frozen hands Wedding bands don't make it rosy man [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick [Memphis Bleek] Yo check it now, yo, yo Your hoe chose i I ain't gonna lie What I look like turnin' down chocha Drove by, smokin' lye Recognize a pimp, open your eyes Hop in the passenger side of the ride Damn bleek, can't speak Uh-huh, okay, what's up, shut up And close the door Act like you been in the drop top On the open road before Fix your weave, then fix me Ever gave head doing 160? Ever seen a pair of kicks this crispy How you love how the white wife beater fit me M-dot, him hot, them not(that's gangsta) [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick [Twista] Tha jigga and twista got 'em screaming Like a demon fiending for the semen Chrome gleaming like the dome off keenan Gone while I'm leanin' smoking I'm whip it in the stomach Your bitch on the passenger side of me flashing your money Why you acting so funny? You know she been flirting while your working Behind the curtain knuckles jerking for certain Poppin' that pussy Sweatin' till no fluid is left When I come in the party with j we gonna do it to death You gon' ruin your rep Trippin' while we pimpin' these hefers Playa lectures got me shining like a new gator stepper Must have been mad When your ho put my stuff in the dash Bust in her ass To climax I come up with a nab The game don't stop Legit ballers bending up the block Niggas rushing, coming at us cause of status and props Sucking and fucking, loving it when I put tha dick up inside her Can't help it if she yellin' with a rider [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick [Jay-Z] Yo, yo Why you home alone, why she out with me? Room 112, hotel balcony How she say jay you can call the house for me? There's no respect at all You betta check her dawg She keep beggin' me to hit it raw So she can have my kids and say it was yours How foul is she? and you wifed her Shit, I put the rubber on tighter Sent her home, when she entered home You hugged her up What the fuck is up? She got you whipped, got your kids Got your home, but that's not your bitch You share that girl, don't let 'em hear daddy earl It'll make 'em sick that his favorite chick Ain't saving it, unfaithful bitch [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick [Memphis Bleek] Yo how dumb the pimp? I heard he trick Bought a new five, maybe a six Copped that for his new down bitch And I was digging that down since '96 shit Memph man I'll take your bitch Let her do her thing, give brain in the whip And you know how it go when it come to the hoes She can do the same thing to the clique you know Your hoe chose, don't get mad at me Got your wife callin' me daddy Put her out on the street let her get that cheese My bad is that your freak But you know how a thug do When a nigga hit that, it's fuck you Keep it snug, tre deuce in the boot Niggas wanna act, get a motherfuckin' slug too [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick [Jay-Z] Cool out homie You betta keep her away from my balling clique Keep her out of nightclubs all in the mix From hanging out with chicks who be swallowing dicks From catz who order cris play the floor with the knicks That can only lead to something unfortunate Hot boy like jigga man scorch your bitch Play the floor dot jigga man go first Then we all rock cause we all hot You know the boys from the roc got them whores on lock Got them bitches in the smash Making yours drive fast Cause we get more cash than the average nigga All dem hoes like damn I gotta have this nigga Cause i'mma hot black, how in the hell can you stop that You would fuck mine How the hell can you knock that? I'm just playing the cards choosenly Jigga man who ya supposed to be? [Chorus: Missy] Oh is that your chick Why she all in his six? With her hand on his dick Keep licking her lips Is that your chick? Why she all in his ride? With her hand on his thigh Keep looking in his eyes Oh is that your chick? You better tell her chill While you all in his grill Don't you know that man kill? Is that your chick? Why she beeping him? Keep praising him? Cause that's bleek and them, trick |
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| 14. |
| 4:09 |
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In my life (echoes two times)
In my life (echoes two times) *In my life There's been heartache and pain In my life There's been heartache and pain There's been heartache and pain In my life There's been heartache and pain I'm still that regular, cetera cat, from the street Thuggin it, lovin my life as Memph Bleek But I'm stuck with, huggin that block, sellin that D Grew up with, nothin but killas and O.G.'s I'm the product of the ghetto 'til they bag me up With a bail stash in case they snatch me up I'm a soldier in this war and I resemble my pops I ain't nothin like him, that's where this criminal stop I provide for the fam, divide them grams Cook it, make flips, survival plans Bein successful, I had every intent But I went to the high school a playin the bench We live off wit, just like our switch-up strips I was raised by the gun so I switch up clips Gettin my hustle on, tryna switch up kicks I won't change bein thug, I won't switch up shit It's my life nigga *Repeat I've put work in, for me to reach this level To let the world know that I speak for the ghetto I've been through the struggle, downfall and the hurt Puttin the close one, deep in the dirt I lost one a my road dogs in nine-eight I still see him everytime I look in his mom's face But don't cry (ma'), we gon' see the light I know he up in Heaven and he gon' lead us right I live by the street so I'm a die by the street As long as I'm alive his daughter'll never need We used to be this close But now it feel we this far apart, me and that nigga can't talk We can't bag and kick it, bag some bitches Only time I see 'em, is when I glance at pictures But I gotta face the fact, my nigga is gone But I'm a ride to the death, and still I mourn In my life nigga *Repeat In my life (echoes two times) In my life (echoes two times) Sometimes I just grab the car keys and ride With no music, I'm just ridin the vibe I done came a long way, from usin the plate Touchin the eight, who would've thought I'd make it today It was just yesterday, moms waitin on the stamps The spot got shot up, and Dre still locked up It's me against the world with no brother, just a revolver And I ain't thinkin about seein tomorrow I got sixty-two grams and a six-shot eight With plans to hit the block and get shit straight But my dog just got shot, spot just got rushed I lost all my weight when the crack pot bust I was left with zip, zero, nothin That's when I realized that my life ain't 'bout nothin The world wouldn't understand Bleek in the street So I took it to the booth and gave y'all the speech *Repeat (x2) |
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