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ft. Ludacris & Jadakiss
[Intro: Jadakiss] I need it from the top, AHHH! This is history baby Commissioner Steve Stoute, Lenny - ha! God`s Son, whattup? D-Block, whattup? Bravehearts, whattup? Yeah Yeah, yo [Verse 1: Jadakiss] Yo ain`t nothin but trouble God When I kick in the door with D-Block, Bravehearts and the Double R Don`t make me let the machine off This is methadone music that you can lean off "Made You Look," the remix with me up on it I copped your shit, now I break weed up on it And everything is real I see Like my niggaz that been home but they only got a jail ID I helped the game, it ain`t help me I`m top five dead or alive and that`s just off one LP And, I still buzz, they feel cuz Cause they know the flow`s Ill just like Will was I`m just tryin to make sure that my sons wealthy Out of shape but I make sure that my guns healthy I`m a ape, you can`t stand `Kiss Comin through the hood in a Aston Vanguish the color of dandruff They said we jumped him, I just let the gun snuff him Copped P then turboed soon as they uncuff him This goes out to all of your mans Why put you in the verse when I can put in a coroner van D-Block [Hook 2X: Nas] THEY SHOOTIN! Ah made you look You a slave to a page in my rhyme book Gettin big money, playboy your time`s up Where them gangsters, where them dimes at? [Verse 2: Ludacris] Yuh, woo! It`s time to go, Luda let`s go! I`m from the school of hard knocks, sneak peeks and low blows Where X`s mark spots and kitchens mark O`s Where love is gon` getcha and hate is gon` snitch ya And fingers squeeze triggers like boa constrictors It`s the, Mr. Luda, Jada and Nas And our bullets give you a deep tissue massage So hear a song and dance while I make these ends You never stood half a chance like Siamese Twins AHHH - THEY SHOOTIN, look in the barrel Then he made the front page of the Miami Herald or Chi. Tribune, nozzles with silent doom We in that A-Town Journal-list, filed with goons You should print my information, quote my rhyme And keep me in between these New York and L.A. Times I was the victim of society, it`s `Cris the menace With mo` shit out on the streets than evicted tenants WOOOOOOOO! [Hook] [Interlude: Nas] Uhh.. uhh.. (BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS.. BRAVE-HEARTS..) Jungle, Wiz, Nashawn! We got `em scared look We got `em scared they runnin [Verse 3: Nas] Yo, I grasp the ratchet, the blinker, the biscuit, the burner The heat, the toaster, the twister you meetin your owner The banger, the hammer, the flamers I aim at the cannons and can ya, manhandlin ya, you`ll be famous like cancer do And cut, that`s the end of your movie Pretendin you actin like you and your mens`ll come shoot me My tennis shoes Gucci, old school pea soup green Jean Lee suit on Beaver, clicko champagne Friday the 13th my CD drop, I rhyme to more Base than EZ Rock I`m Jason, call up P.D. watch them Bravehearts, Jungle and Wiz and Nashawn Ill Will rasta Lake, never revealin his face on TV or pictures or even them niggaz Sorry that I made you wait long, glad them fakes gone [beat scratches out] WE SHOOTIN! Squeezin them triggers with Luda beside me Me and `Kiss get Luniz of weed, set to Styles P. Tell him hold his head, God`s Son got him we made y`all look From San Quentin to Riker`s Island to.. [fades out]
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