to me man This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the noise up We'll get into the proceedings this evening Headphones are distorting, bring it a lil' bit Okay, now we with it The boy Face on the line, Face - Mob! Welcome to New York City, ya boy Young Hov' chea Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on Can I talk to for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I want much (whoo!) Lemme talk to motherfuckers, uhh
Guess who's You still smelling crack in my Don't make me have to on these hoes Take it back out to them roads When I was it, niggas couldn't do nothing with it Straight from the oven with it, from the dirt I from it all without a stain on my shirt You can blame my old earth, for the shit she in me Still with me, pain work Shit she made me this game for all it's worth That's right, these can't fuck with me I'm calling guts every time, drag my nuts every Homey, we make a combination don't we? Me and the Mob, every time we face-off Face it y'all, y'all niggas playing ball I'm on the block like I'm eight tall Homey, I'm in the drop the AC on why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!
Guess bizack? Back on the block the old Face Mob Mack and Hov' Don't me relapse Back to the block the fo' Cuz street shit is all I know
the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon Trying to me forty thousand and move Motels, star-studded, rock stars and clothes wanna run in my room But nigga guess who's It's ya boy Face Mob Started with an eightball, get this cake dawg Give a break, nah, you know how the game go Fuck you think I slang fo', to go the grain (no) I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the chase I fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88 got no wholesale, cause that ain't how I wanna run it Here take five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred Gotta see my dude, you do shit a fiend do The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the fool Money is an issue, and that's on the fa' my nizzle Ya block warm, then I by with the fizzle And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for of the time We go to war and you making a dime (ha ha!) Cause I got, to lose, a nigga out here payin his dues My walking gotta get him some shoes It's a new doing, lemme give ya the rules Get outta line and give ya the blues It's a new game doing, lemme ya the rules Get outta and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!
who's bizack? The boy B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr. Turn a one from a half a brick, look I mastered this You can smell it the plastic rips A hot make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't have to Play them corners like a safety, the traffic switch Young'n never fake, and you'll get past the blitz And keep ya hood on flip, like on box-spring Pissy and shit, low old box of things Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of Shit I used to hug a like a old deuce and a quarter Till like deuce in the morning, the old heads loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it) Still fucking with them addicts Still with that black-matic
who's bizack? Back on the block the old Face Mob Mack Mittens and Don't me relapse to the block with the fo' Cuz this street is all I know