[Chorus: Cappadonna] Pain is love, that's what this nigga told me I keep washin' my face with blunts and O.E Mix coke with dust, still can hold me What made ya muthafuckas think you control me?
[Lounge Mode] Staten Island been wildin', so Osama's nothing And my niggaz out in Brooklyn said Saddam was frontin' Gotta squad, what you think, it ain't no guns or something? Picture Me Rollin', holdin' less than a one or somethin' You fake faggots, yeah we got that big automatic Like, Bruce Willis and the Jackal type, yeah, right You wanna see it? Then get on my nerves Oh you live, and I'm gettin' money spit on my curb In the hood where it get no harder, only tougher Crack fiends suffer, baby moms, baby brother Hustlin', still forty off a hundred packs I'd rather lounge in the back of the bar Me and my dog throw crack in the jar Listen to this rap star, while I sit back in the car And I told ya'll niggaz how the Staten rock We don't, trick on chicks, yo we clap them shots You get caught if you ask a lot, like you don't know And where you at, then ya ass is got
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[Solomon Childs] We bringin' back the Twin Towers, 20-0-3, crack game electronic Conceived with slow jams by The Delfonics At a level that you should of been years ago Responsible usually for coke traffic, usually for broken bone tragic Rest in peace, to Mayor Guliani's term They say I'm wrong, shit I'm try'nna see 26, with my daughters at the Emmy Awards All around the ball glowin', they got the weed flow droughted Or maybe niggaz in the hood just ain't 'bout it Talkin' Hercules, and ain't nothin' but dog food Staten Island, New York City drools Crazy glue on my fingerprints Name on the concrete of my hood, what's really good? Vendetta's with these rap stars Frontin' like this crime and the pet is they cars Believe I was God in my last life What if it was your knife? What if they was your gloves, nigga..
[Chorus]
[Cappadonna] Aiyo, I came into this game on some real love shit And ya'll bitch ass niggaz, ya'll wanted me to quit Because the way I dress I'll and the way that I spit But I ain't never gon' stop, droppin' these joints And ya'll fake ass niggaz, ya'll ain't gettin' no points Don't try to sabotage me, cuz you just can't do it You had me in the Square, last year, but you blew it Big Donna from the group home, that's my word Splash shots at your whip, splash shots at your bird Leave your brains and your Gucci boots up on the curb Pillage for life, Allah's will be the most superb Smoke weed with the cannon, smoke the herb So bow down, all you crab ass clowns you can't live My gun's on empty, but it's more shots to give I pop you like a slave cop, run in your crib Throw darts at your wife, throw darts at your kid Leave your house flooded with hits like O.J. did Escapin' the crime scene and you love how I slid
[Chorus]Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
