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by Prodigy

(feat. Havoc)

Respect to the ol' timers man! (yeah!)
Word up!
And the younglings man those to come, ya heard? (uh-huh!)

Gangsters don't die (nah!) we just turn to "Legends" (yeah!)
All we go through is hell, what the fuck is a heaven? (fuck is the heaven?!)
We live fast and store death long as possible (that's right!)
Get our cash and put threats in the hospital. [x2]

[Verse 1:]
Young P! - When I was thirteen I had dreams
To do what LL did and Run DMC!
Dirty ol' fuck! - Learnin' how to aim my pee
Older niggaz in the hood use to try to thug me.
'Til Pops gave me a knife, told me to handle my thangs
And if not, when I came back - he would handle me.
I put my first 'lil bit of fear into niggaz I was gas
Started hangin' with the others that was on the same shit. (whattup dog?)
Had my first taste of gun fire early in my years
Gang fights, we was jumpin' niggaz, we was just kids.
Takin' coats off victims, watches off people's wrist
Shootin' in the air (pop, pop!) part of tryin' to aimin' for your head.
And us young bloods and 'lil young gunz from back then
Grew up to be Raps most Infamous Clique. (uuuuhhh-ooooohhh!)
Most thugs we grew up with proud of we did it
And naturally you got others that wanna see us hit. [gun cocks & shot]


[Verse 2:]
Capital P! When I was thirteen I had dreams
Now I'm all grown up and livin' out my dreams.
And my Pops ain't here now that nigga deceased (R.I.P.!)
And that being said how you gon' son me?
Niggaz bodied JMJ right there in Queens
Goes to show there's no respect for the ol' G's.
Niggaz talkin' real tough - like I'm N-E-X-T!
Like I give a fuck about shootin' up your peeps. (blat, blat!)
About gettin' hit - I'm about to show you niggaz how to bleed
Got guns in different states - you can't catch me sleep.
Put bullets in your hearts - bullets all up in the meat (blat!)
It's right behind your forehead's (blat!) bone you plead G's (blat!)
When it's on and poppin' - you be beggin' I stop it
You be beggin' for your life, 'fore that head shot stop it.
Rappers lovin' my spit! - Fans lovin' my shit
Indeed you got those that wanna see me hit. [gun cocks & shot]


Ki'ed up nigga!
I see you, bitch ass niggaz!
You heard?
Lil' kids-ass niggaz... fucked up!
Tools and shit... (what else?) rest of the ladies stole that.
They be hittin' you with the electric shit choppin' you back nigga!
You better calm down nigga!
Y'all broke niggaz need to give it up! Word up!
This is gangs-transfusion and shit!
World wide...
If I don't get ya, my thumb gon' get ya, be fucked up!
Real fucked up... punks!

"Two old beef patties, special sauce, lettuce and cheese
Pickles and onions, on a sesame seed bun the big motherfucking Mac! " [machine gun shots]

Writer(s): Alan Maman, Albert Johnson

Contributed by Levi M. Suggest a correction in the comments below.
To comment on specific lyrics, highlight them

J. M. Smig

on Black Coffee Waltz by J. M. Smig

My compliments to the genuine schizophrenics imagining lyrics to my instrumental music. I love this site.

ⴰⵎⴰⵏⴷⴰ ⵛⴰⵔⵍⵣ

on Feragh by Mohsen Wolf

مفاموم به یادم هرروزی نستوم ازفراغم مسوزی خیلی وقته که نستیم باهم ولی باز چشمَ به درمدوزی مفاموم به یادم هرروزی نستوم از فراغم مسوزی خیلی وقته که نستیم باهم ولی بازچشمَ به درمدوزی مدوزی چشم بَ درانتظارمه مکشی ازصبح تاشام دوس داری که برگردوموگپاتم بازمَرَکُنه خام ولی دیگه تورَشناختِم نه نَمِفتوم مه دَ دام روزگاری خوب بودی باهم بودگپای توبَ کام ولی آله دَچُرتت نستوم برنجوم بیگیروم مه سرسام تووم برودیگه پشت کارت نبردَهرجاازمه نام چرا مِگیری سراغ مه مگه نبودی عاشق محفل وجام دروغ گویی خصلتت نَمِتی به اوگپایت اتمام دلمه وابسته توبود نمفاموم چیشددلته ربود چندبار د پستایت دیدِم عکسایت کنارت مِداد نمود ولی آخر الایت کد درس زندگی ره املایت کد بعدچند روز باهم بودن چقه راحت اراضاعت کد گپ مه مزنوم مبخشی ولی تو دزندگیم بنخشی چون که همشه هرزستیوب سمت راه کج ملخچی بازولی مگی بتابوم شبا به محسن بخوابوم کل گپای دلت دروغ هس ولی یگ چیزَخوب مفاموم.... مفاموم به یادم هرروزی نستوم ازفراغم مسوزی خیلی وقته که نستیم باهم ولی باز چشمَ به درمدوزی مدوزی ولی چشمته بدر یادمس شدی روز به روز بدتر او روزامه دوستت داشتوم ولی دیگه هچ وقت نام مه نبر نام نبر د دهان مردارت پش آشنا وبگانه همشه توخائن هستی تاابدیادم ممانه کل مشکل ازخودت بود ایره دوستای تم مدانه چراوقتی بحثش مفته مگی رفتوم مه به بانه مگه نمگی اگه نباشوم دستاتو سردوبه جانه مگه نمگی اگه نباشوم به مه مشی تو دیوانه دلمه خی چرا شکاکه دروغه ازچشمایت مخانه لطفاًدیگه فراموشم کو انسان اگه بخواد متانه نگو چقه نامردوم بایدپشت برگردوم بدیای مم مال توس ولی خوب تامکنوم بامردم نه خون مه آوردی جوش دلشم تابردی پشت کدی به مه و حسم آله اما داریم خوش صرف ازخاطر تنهاییس عشقت حاصل تن خواهیس که به شهوت ایمان داری و بره آرامشت تداویس مفاموم چقه مسوزی چون نه گپی داروم نه توضیح بره سوال به جواب تو ناغ چشمته به درمدوزی مدوزی ولی چشمته بدر یادمس شدی روز به روز بدتر او روزامه دوستت داشتوم ولی دیگه هچ وقت نام مه نبر مفاموم به یادم هرروزی نستوم ازفراغم مسوزی خیلی وقته که نستیم باهم ولی باز چشمَ به درمدوزی

Stephen Hazelwood

on Good News from the Graveyard by Southern Raised

Southern Raised are a talented group of 3 sisters and 1 brother who learned to play musical instruments associated with classical music. However, these siblings’ talents couldn’t be contained to just one instrument or one genre, for there seemed to be no bounds to their talents. After hearing a recording of acoustic instruments and thinking it would be fun to learn how and play those instruments, it actually served as the catalyst to these young Christians’ lives taking the road less traveled and becoming Southern Gospel Musicians and Performers, as they began telling the Gospel message through uplifting, soul-searching songs and music.

Ogbuco Rasco

on Murtala Mohammed by Oriental Brothers International

Nice music

Almah cutie

on Menko (Mma Me Ho) by Esther Smith


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