Hate Music

F/ Juelz Santana

HOOK: Cam'ron

Ayo my niggas can't take music

Everybody rap to us, so we hate music

Now we make the hate music

We 'bout to rape music, straight up degrate music

You aint 18, shit, don't even play music

Killin is another high

I hope your girl get AIDS, your brother crash and dash

Or your mother die, and your sister is a topless dancer

No answer, glaucoma, and your pops got cancer

[Juelz Santana]

Yo I'm a motherfucking nightmare, y'all can either love me or hate me

Know alotta niggas wanna slug me and waste me

That's why I never keep the gun on safety

When I get this money, y'all gon hate me

Y'all act like Harlem aint that shit, go 'head and play dumb

Like y'all don't know where AlPo and Rich bought the caine from

Sugarhill cocaine slums, get it correct

Real niggas spit at your chest, look at your death

Y'all cop Playstations, play Live 2000

I'ma cop guns, try to survive 2000

Nigga like me be on the block every day

While you think your moms look rocked every day

Cuz she come see me for them rocks every day

Keep the thang close, ready to pop every day

Cuz I'm tired of you spot betters

I got a 380 full of hot peppers, that'll rip through them cop's sweaters

You dudes is chumps, talkin 'bout you live like thugs

You be home watchin Midnight Love

No bitch, you and your hand makin midnight love

It's over dog, you need to just get right fuck, what

HOOK

[Cam'ron]

I got the gun and clip, runnin shit

I run chains, run rings, run in your block, make you run

Then I run things

Piss in a cup, come on, fuck a drug test

I'm on my block, knockout kings, slugfest

A few beers cold, come through here bold

A few of us blew our goals when fuckin two years old

Off to the lobby, all to the body, then auction a shottie

Go to Boston and party hardy with Walter McCardy

Drunk, smackin bitches off the Bacardi

Hustle often as robbery, so guns, coppin double

Fuck around with me, I'ma pop your bubble

Put up my own yellow tape, save the cops the trouble

If you wanna see my true portions, screw bossin

Kill you like Mike pop for new Jordans

Come through flossin, jail aint nothin for me

I got cake baby, bail aint nothin for me

I'm that same son of a B, gun in the V

Coke, guns, hookers, I'm the one that you see

Cats still talkin fly, put his tongue in a tree

If we nice, then we'll let him keep his lung for a G

When I rap, it aint nothing but hungry you see

Jimmy, Juelz, Cam, yo I'm one of the three, beeotch

HOOK