Lyrics:
don’t fake moves, I scrape crews
I make brothers break food just give me a
Beat with a bass groove
I’m mad funky ask the experts ‘cause I’ll
Make you bob
bathe in the wake to baptize your crew
When I'm down by the river, bangin' from Sydney
Hand on my outboard fangin' my dinghy
Streams run free, all over
step to the mic and set the record straight
Ah-yo G
We're gon' do it like this
Why don't you tell 'em who you're down with loc
Right
All you
I'm never borin', I keep tourin'
My record sales keep soarin' and soarin'
I'll make a million, maybe two
Buy some rides, go blow the dough on my crew
of danger even
Though we live in a world infinitely safer
And more predictable than
Anything our ancestors knew with their help
Our anxieties have only
and pistol Preach (real line)
csk Sk
Records dey play for Maternity (I lie for you)
Who get heart Nor be who join Fraternity (tell am)
So dey your Dey, I
out on his staff like birds one and two
My crew runs thicker than syrup from the borough
You get hurt up, Word up, Jammed like Pearl
Knock off from
out on his staff like birds one and two
My crew runs thicker than syrup from the borough
You get hurt up, Word up, Jammed like Pearl
Knock off from
[Record Stratching]
Alright now here we go
[Drunken Master]
Fifty niggazhbhbh
Fifty niggaz deep
We fifty niggaz deep
We fifty we fifty niggaz deep
[Gun shots followed by screaming]
[Proof:]
Pow-pow! Straight off the corral
Now, the dirtiest street vet from the mile
Is vexed without the techs
We cut, produce, and emcee
That's true
You're fucking with a two man crew
We got a run
It's all about having fun
But the countdown
Ends at one
through niggas
Whole crews, not just one or two niggas
Cause you ain't representin' the south, you just embarassin'
See you on t.v. in New York, them
or MTV or Joan Rivers Fashion Police
Not what you read in tabloid seats
These are MC's that live by the code, it's hard for me to spit it
Because
or MTV or Joan Rivers Fashion Police
Not what you read in tabloid seats
These are MC's that live by the code, it's hard for me to spit it
Because
me what the race is
It's surreal
They're not real
I put them by their places
See it
They used to call me tricky-kid
I live the life they wish
Uh
1st & (1st &) 15th (15th)
Woah, uh!
Lupe Fiasco's Food & Liquor
Is lovingly, hand-crafted and done
By the good folks, at 1st & 15th, yeah!
the stores, the mom and pop spots
A&R people, all y'all motherfuckers (to live in die in L.A)
L.A, California Love part motherfuckin' two
Without gay ass Dre
rapper
Who swears he's makin' records
That's what they said whenever
I would walk by i never tripped though
Always kept my head up high
Eventually I knew
different cliques and crews to belong to
All identified by the music they drawn to
Check the status of your apparatus and then go
Nowaday, it ain't that
still takin' rappin' for a joke
A passing hope or a phase with a rope
Sometimes I choke and try to believe
When I get challenged by a million MCs
I
then I'm snatchin' her purse
Port city baddie, i just wanna fuck
City too crazy, so I keep it tucked
Live by the gun, die by the gun
Talk on my bro's
"Live from New York it's Saturday Nite!" (Scratched 4x)
[Uneek]
Ayo kid for years I've been into rap
Writing funky rhymes to get my name
on collisions in these rap competitions
My crew catch records turns their frames into scrape metal
Off to the junk yard
Cuz ain't nobodies on my rap level you
chere
And y'all wants me to be forgiving out chere
I'm supposed to live by Christian ideas
But being homophobic could kill your career
So I switched
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