Lyrics:
y'all all gon
Say my raps is hot
And clearly I showed y'all how to
Take away half the dots Your
Man Mickey keep running his mouth like
I won't grab
Imperio these hoes with this izm
The chances is low of you breaking this rhythm
Mystikal here i go
Let me get him
I promise I'm sharp as machete
You
Look here see
Pretty Mike shanked Two-Face Al over some gal
Found the body dead in the isles
Death by strangulation, microphone cord
A dirty broad
My vicious rhyme I call my masterpiece
And now people in the house this is just for you
A little rap to make you boogaloo
Now the group ya hear is
Get out here, petrol is cheaper than it's ever been
And then, who's to say when all will end?
All I know is when the portrait painted, better have
The time is 1: 12 in the ATL
I exit 112 with this bitch Michelle
In the V12 headed to the hotel
Hydro lit up weed in the air
She feening to get bent
stacks and rubber bands up in that
Brown paper bag (you're dig)
Brown paper bag (my name is weezy you all)
Brown paper bag (I'm here on behalf
And he said: "The name of my rig is Phantom 309
I asked him why he called his rig such a name
He said: "Son, this old Mack can put 'em all to shame
the bell!
Zanks for your help, Doc!
[Doc:] Yeah, see you in Hell
[Glass Joe:] Zis is my moment
Vive la France
All of my training
Has led to this chance
I
[Fat Joe]
Yeah don't get it fucked up
This shit is realer than you think
Goin out to all them niggaz gettin cream
Drivin them
some chicks and get some digits
And the DJ's playing them hits
Oh this my jam, this my shit
We don't know a word to a verse
All we know is the chorus
bootleg yah yah
And Matt Heinkle the muthafuckin backstabba
And Heinydogg and that's shoestring
Eh, my boy T-rock is in this muthafucka
BigJ Ski, KeyJ, Joe
were it started
The ghette south eight is my hood and my hearts with the
Ghetto,
Ghetto.
I can't get out of here
Ghetto
Nigga
Ghetto
I can't
Her without prosthetic versions i have
Had plenty of time to search my memory
Though, because here on this couch
In this room, during this interview,
You, uh, wanted to know what the good life is?
Beats by Herb, Rhymes, Kid 'n Play and cuts by Wiz
Just hype it up for this here crowd
With moves that
him mine
And he said: "The name of my rig is Phantom 309."
I asked him why he called his rig such a name
He said: "Son, this old Mack can put 'em
exposed
Look at my pinky, you can tell it is froze
I'm dabbin' over here, foreign clothes
Pussy niggas sweet just like some lemon
You sweet just like some
And nigga raised by the rat's roaches
Real youngen holdin coke
State they gave my man life
Feds they gave my man 10
Messin with this dirty game feel like
I'm
I didn't want to come and I don't want to
Be here i'm the son of an
Atlanta City police officer
My cousin is an Atlanta City
Police officer and my
critique
Look at me nigga, just a young hood nigga tryna get this cake
I don't need to be givin' out how school gon' educate
Filet mignon for my food stamps
right now I'm booing you
What did Kobe, Gigi and them other passengers do to you? (What they do?)
My condolences at this time is all I could offer
Kobe
the house
Special Ed is in the house
Yeah
This one goes out to my man
Thanks a lot Ron Carter on the bass
Yes my man Ron Carter is on the bass
Now
down my niggas)
(Stunna, Face, Joe Crack the Don)
'Stead I'd rather bust at you
You motherfuckers must be crazy
I been doin' this shit since
Happy holidays
Let me come here and talk to you
I gotta stop sayin' I'm not doin' this shit no more knowin' I'm cappin'
(Great John on the beat by
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