b
Bizzy:
Yeah, this for all you non-believers, especially out in the C-O. Man,
fuck y'all niggas.
Yeah, I'm (tatted) so when I die, you can see what's deep in my eye
[my eye].
Maje$ty:
7 Sign . . .
Bizzy:
I put who got you, too, who shot you, who got you, glock you and stop
you [stop you, stop you].
Look who got you, too, who shot you, who got you, pop you and stop you
[stop you, stop you].
Nigga, this Mo Thug and we can get fucked-up even if I'm under
surveillance, I watch out, wanna win, and fuck 'em up daily,
throwin' up 7, what am I yellin'? Murderer. Nigga, once you come must
be like crazy if you [Muthafucka, don't play me] play
me. Nigga, not today. I see you but you can't see me. I know with all
of government and, yes, this will get crazy and blow
[bomb, bomb, bomb, bomb].
Maje$ty:
Got your mind blown, vocal tones keep it sewn, blastin' out your
steroes or your headphones. The roots exploited clones;
therefore, it's my job to describe the loudness, the habitat of rap
survival kit. Artistic skin abrasion, so when 'em fadin' my
worldly reflections, it's magnified to new levels of elevation.
Bizzy:
Seven sign, seven, seven sign, seven, seventh sign seal.
Yeah, now y'all know, yeah.
Yeah, I'm (tatted) so when I die, you can see what's deep in my eye
[my eyes, my eyes].
Now, look who got you, then, who shot you, who pop you, glock you and
stop you [stop you, stop you].
Look who got you, too, who shot you, who pop you, glock you and stop
you [stop you, stop you].
Bizzy:
The Rip here to run in the street, and flippin' on police, yeah they
know me, I'm not lonely, only, show me when the smoke
clears, and at least I had my homie and a nigga, K, homie. All
bitches, look into it as you want the real killa? Well, pull out
your pistol, bitch, and shoot it, shoot it. And you knew it, too,
when, when you looked in my eyes, I'm ready to die. And I
hope my mama really loves me, 'cause daddy's bye-bye. Inner pride with
the Ripsta, let 'em hit ya with the scripture, picture
me loc'd out and smoked out with a half of fifth of (?).
Maje$ty:
Three sixty-five out of all the round trees, they'll be Japanese,
Maje$ty's corruptin' record companies. Nigga, jump for cheese,
catch sub-zero freeze and crack once the atmosphere brings the
temperature back, slacks only in dress pants, have you ever
danced with the devil in pale moonlight? I have. Hollywood niggas make
me laugh. Sell a dream to 'em. Cash, no royality,
grab they royal keys and dash. My overhead projects how ends meet to
foul or ejected, lyrics was selected beyond my
control, last door on the totem pole, pockets swoll from tape residue,
last interview and went in daytime, it's made a promise to
let down smooth criminals gently and (?) grab your earlobe and
billion, this is big business, buy tapes, don't lend, niggas (?)
while I scrap change for phillies, why grill me? Got bigger balls to
chase waterfalls with Chili, explore on four wheels or foot, I
bring it to that ass over the hook so when you slip, gots it. I ride
up on it. I had to maintain my mental frame, and now I'm
Boneless, word sound 'til I'm foamin'. Cybergenics wanted my genes for
clonin'. Disownin' heads like Romans fight rebel
Trojans. More than civil suits make my longevity boost, articles and
promotions make me more potent. Deadly to the mind,
'causin' somethin' to be blind, redefine lines entertwined with all
mankind. Would that rain outshine divine Maje$ty, shame, the
boogie down Bronx is where the heart still remain.
Bizzy:
I'm a let a nigga know, you know what I'm sayin', just right off the
bat. I gives a fuck about no nigga. Don't be no (corvie)-ass
nigga. I'm tryin' to tell niggas that off the rip, off the rippa,
baby.
[I must be losin' my mind . . .] I must be.
Where's the mob? Find your specialty, let's give this nigga a job. Is
you ready for jail? Yes and no, but somebody's gonna try
to rob. We can spar, but you gon' drop [drop], I'm a bomb, ready for
war, will I p-pop pop, better look out for miles, been
doomed since the womb. Will he put me in my tomb? I've been thuggin'
so assume when I enter your room, boom. Stomped
through Compton and cities y'all ain't never heard of, and listen, I
bet there's thousand people screamin' out "murder, murderin'
ya." Hypnotized, took off my shirt, I got a (?). I'm tatted so when I
die you can see what's deep my eyes. Trues ride but trues
die, my nigga, don't cry, I shedded my last tear when I found out love
was a lie. So I try, but it ain't nothin' for my mental. So
piss off my pencil, and I blast, dash in a rental. One nigga got (?)
and off he in a trap with sawed-off they took a chance and
lost, let's spray A-K and make gangsta gone, don't finish the wars
when they ain't over, I love you thugs, but all them skeletons
got so close and they got so (?) if it ain't (?), this family that
don't give a fuck who you are. It ain't nothin' like some trouble.
How close? How far [how far, how far]?
