and I attack the pack that's wack The black mack, brown like a cracker jack Slick and quick, I got pick a bic to stick To kick some shit, chicks I dick
fuck that Fall off bounce back, fake niggaz hate that I know they do, whatever happens gotta stay true Be real with a nigga be real with you, you get a chick
yes young fire produced it with true spit i get lots of relish with strange music my crew's thick, deuce click and guess who's with two chicks (tech n
the ghetto, raised in the ghetto I was born in the ghetto, raised in the ghetto I bang out beats by cars and ho stacks Rap nigga puttin' out rock-n-roll
pass with the top off like my car was named Lil' Kim The lil pimp hopped out wrist lookin like a skittles blimp Do not introduce me to your chic, that
-N-C [Verse 1] We throw a club in the clique nigga I need a thug and a drink Scream "The Inc" Till I'm "Gone" like N'SYNC Bitches born for the scene
a, warn in plans looking at the quarters of France Ants in my pants so I dips in the door Picked up the keys, caught a telephone call She yelling bones in my sounds swell
I came to have fun, here homey, what else? And I came with a ton of money but Don't get it twisted, the gun is on me now This chick's with her man frontin
better ask these dudes i'm a rock a n**** a** if your chick pop off i'm a smack a monkey a** thats gasta ganstafied thats how we do it in the dirty and hit a wieny n
came to have fun, here homie (what else?) And I came wit a ton of money (but!) Don't get it twisted the gun is on me (now) This chick's wit her man frontin
The real side, the 7-7 hillside I thought I'd just chill, take a breath Straight up Columbus Hill, make a left and get fixed Plus the ghetto chicks got
have fun, here homie (what else?) And I came wit a ton of money (but!) Don't get it twisted the gun is on me (now) This chick's wit her man frontin on
here homie (what else?) And I came wit a ton of money (but!) Don't get it twisted the gun is on me (now) This chick's wit her man frontin on me I'll holla
and shootin' with'cha Chip on my shoulder now, Mr. Nice Guy is over wow To a ritzy and older style, from ditzy and gomer pow Look at my checks swell, chicks
I was born in the ghetto, raised in the ghetto I bang out beats in cars with ho stacks Rap nigga putting out rock-n-roll tracks Anything with wheels,
