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Three
by Prodigy

[Prodigy and Cormega]
For my G-pack niggas
Right, right
Shooting at cops nigga what
For my G-pack niggas

Fuck the police
N.Y.P.D. - New York Pricks and Dicks
They can't stop our floss
Straight up (for you crackheaded bitches)

For my A.M. niggas (for you crackheaded bitches)
My Ante Meridian niggaz; what up dunn?
Liqour store closed
Hit the bootlegger, let's hit the bootlegger
Straight up, yo

[Prodigy]
Yo dunn, we got guns in the grass, it's three at night
I'm about to take the last swallow of the Eases Jesus
Who got fifty on the next tree, we gotta stop at the store
We need D batteries for the theme music

Snatch the biscuits from out the lawn
Fuck a cab, lets take cracked-out Yolanda's Saab
We gave that bitch two wibbles
And skated off with her vehicle for that pillow

All outside the borough, dunn what happened to Queens
Like Supton(?) and 1-2-1, Farmers and 116th
The got us on the be -Q-E, just to get a taste of that greenery
We took our smoke out to Coney Island, posted up by the Himalaya

Pina Colada champales mixed with Dani'
That's St. Ide's in dunn lingo
Spillin' it on the floor for our dead people
While I spark the sequel shit; my niggaz got lungs

When we smoke, that shit only go around once
Dogs, we just killin' time
Somebody just got they shit twisted on the block fuckin' up the grind
So, 'til it pipe down

We just going at these sluts - bitch, we want to fuck right now

[Cormega]
Son I'm on a bench high eatin' chicken wings and french fries
A crackhead fuck spent his last bucks on six dimes
I'm one gram from big time, a spliff away from overdosin'
My heart is broken, my man started smokin' again

P, I heard the tunnel open again
I spoke to Flex he said he's gonna let both of us in
It's time to load up the autos and semis
I wish my niggas bank was in a physical form unlike

I got my uptown nikes thugged out and icy
Mad deep, jumpin' out the Cocaine white Jeep
Through was strugglin', so I resume hustlin'
Rap game or crack game my crew is still bubblin'

Yo, three in the morning and the D's on the corna still
Seems we were born to kill, yo P meet me on the hill
So we can jet through Queens in SUV's
Show these motherfuckers how we rep this thing, ya know?

Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group
Written by: ALAN MAMAN, ALBERT JOHNSON, CORY MCKAY

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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