Lyrics:
better recognize) (2x)
(Think you better recognize) (2x)
Sam: (Dre)
Well I'm back in the mix with a bottle of hennessy,
so fire up a blunt let's have
TMZ, or caught slip'n by my niggaz rolling hella deep off in these streets
Theres rules to this and I ain't new to this, I'm born and bread
So go ahead
The forty motherfuckin dollars on my books, nigga
I'm not an MC, I'm not a G
I mean I'm A-to-fuckin-Z and everything in between
Rappers like gangbangin cos
(tell 'em)
I'm sick of y'all fake Timbaland beat bitin', you know what I'm sayin'
I'ma bring it to y'all like this
By all means necessary
You might
on some playa shit, hold up,
Hey,
Let me pop it to em, huh, come on,
Look, look,
I'm puffin' blue dream, rockin' Coogi
Palm trees with the cool breeze,
cotton thorns in your palms
It's for y'all that I sketch these songs and it goes
Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow
I fear no man,
so we party all Night
Party all night
Let me ask you something
Have you been to the LA
What about to the Bay
By way Sac Town
I'm a lil ways down
Lil
roll by I got nothing on me
'Cause the smoke's already in the air
I am looked up with two braids in my hair
All start with the kaki suit
I'm gonna
Out here in Cali, we shine so bright
Wear shades at night, cause we blinded by the lights
Poppin' thizzles like they vitamins, I'm talkin' one a day
Yo this Chris Rock
I'm in here with my man Ricky Rozay
We in here drinkin' this Belaire Rose
That's how we do it
That's all we do
Belaire Rose!
to the west side
Pushing phat rides,
Ain't no surprise
She got tricks in the stash
Stacking up the cash
Quick when it comes to the gas
By no means average
It's
endeavor
So whether or not you understand, that there's only one DJ Q-you-I-K
With no see still you can't be me
Because I'm floatin' in my Lex and,
back dro
Can't get caught in the mix
By these fake trouble cops and
They crooked ass tricks
And uh, hold up yo, niggas rollin' up
For what? I don't know
class
Want to survive, you better scramble like eggs and break fast
Cause I know how to handle your fake ass
I'm a ride on you and hide you in
It's not usual, the game be, all up on some South shit
Straight west coasting, you can tell by my outfit
Red 'nati fitted, "Blood in, Blood out"
They want me to trick, I ain't P. Diddy BITCH (woo)
I'm gone show em now
I'm gone show em how (show em how)
How we break it down
This is how it's
a grenade palm
I'm concurrent in your hood like a, teenage mom
Yo Biggie (what? what?) She havin my bay-bayy
If I pull out the A.K., keep your hands high
Of where I'm at most of the time like
Kind of aloof and salty and
Also young and black
Last question there's a poem about you
Written in
1995 by your family
While they coked up and weeded
Open fire
Now them niggas bleedin'
See me in flesh
And test
And get your chest blown
Straight out the west, don't get
While they coked up and weeded
Open fire
Now them niggas bleedin'
See me in flesh
And test
And get your chest blown
Straight out the west, don't get
cocktail, you could tell, by the smell
Burn one, let the whole club know I'm here (Hey!)
Let's fly tonight
Come ride wit'cha boy and get high tonight
to survive, you better scramble like eggs and break fast
Cause I know how to handle your fake ass
I'm a ride on you and hide you in yesterday's trash
Pull up in
stated that life is what you make it
Hold everyday sacred I'm filled with such hatred
'Cause a lot of niggas in the east don't represent
And out west
right in their palms
[Chorus]
Jay-Z: I flow hard for the street, sicka for the club
Sometimes for the ladies, but this one for my thugs
Bleek:
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