this bitch crib to receive love and nourishment In the form of joints rolled, Drinks poured Her in nothing but a robe, playin her roll I saw the mack when I was only 11 years
young girls wanna be with it You ain't ready for the bed You still got a pussy like Isaac Hayes' head Come back in five years When ya grow some hairs
out clouts slick Creamy and fresh east coast to west Brooklyn Uptown To the universal fair Old school MCs I'm slicker this year, I'm slicker this year
Game 11 This is a federal food fight (You better know it) That means we're callin' out all you kooks and crooks (What? We're about to rip this shit)
orphan who's momma died of aids He built a coffin working often but he never paid Forever slaving in the world that's forever cold Becoming the man of the house at 11 years
graffiti with the Prop 21 I already know the deal but what the fuck do I tell my son? I want him livin right, livin good, respect the rules He's five years
again Keep em high Now, my flow is in the pocket like Wallace I got the bounce like hydraulics I can't call it, I got the swerve like alcoholics My freshman year
's had it Encourage the cutting of Marionette by bayonette To escape the twin maker's cabinet I was born in between 11:59 and 12 which 12 falls into
9/11 I'm on the avenue with nines, elevens, I'm a two times felon That's why I keep the top up, on my 9-11 Pele, in New Orleans, ain't got no Rico law
, put valve up to twelve Put all the other LP's back on the shelf And smoke a blunt, and dial 9-1-7 1-6-0-4-9-3-11 And you can long dick hip-hop affection
to Clayton County, my house got surrounded The enemies trying to drown me, but my hood still around me Rookie of the year, no freshman cover Shawty sixteen years
me Four Mississippi, won't no dog sick me Five Mississippi, we in Mississippi Twenty deep in the block, real niggas rock with me Blazing, revving in the black 9/11
fucking wanna so why you want insist on this I got your name at the top of fucking dead bitch list meet Mr Machiavelli?s terror back of the year, thug
'm 'bout to kick in your door 5, 6, man, I want those bricks 7, 8, you gon' give up dat weight 9, 10, I'll put the glock to ya chin 11, 12, man, I'll
Or the S type Jag, y'all niggas straight fag This is for my niggas who ain't never have shit Ridin' around town with gun in masses Copped out the ten years
on tonight 54-11's poppin' wheelies front of Willyburgers Candy apple M3's, slidin' out gently Rollin up in Bentleys, Tyson was the champ then Right after the Rooftop, years
me 30 The L-I-L R-O-B 31 Mexican Gangster numero dos 32 Simon, I'm back once again a little different since back then 33 Four years later, four years
sacking them digits Cause I'ma hustle till I die and I'm in it to win it Making my paper independent, got seven years in it Dope House platinum eyes,