Look...
I'm here to make a mil off of fifteen bricks
I rob for, can't see me workin' for Job Corps
It's Gates, dog
A little introduction to me
Crack's D unto himself
Who else fuckin with me?
Who got the shit in a chokehold?
Who gettin that powder?
Who got the candy red 'Pala
sittin with M. Holla?
Its real life and I aint got to act in a flick
or make a skate and play like I'm blackin a bitch
Young'n...
I like the 5, but feel right in the 6
Its more roomy, so I can feel right in your bitch
Shit, I drink Velvey, Henny, and Cris
In the hood they call me can't-get-right
But I can get right
It aint a ho in harlem that can't get piped
or any five boroughs
My 9 semi starts trouble
I want y'all to act up
Go head and play dumb
Billy Bathgates my name, huh
Nigga, I shot ya
(Yeah...DJ Clue...Desert Storm...fat shout:
my nigga Just Blaze, Enigma, word up)
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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