' all that loud noise Have your pistol on your side like the cowboys 'Cause you can make a lot of money when you sellin' dope Sell your soul to the Devil
to knooow What we here fooor, what we here fooor We thug walkin', we thug walkin', thug walkin' Verse One: {Ying Yang Twins back and forth} Pain make
some wet Uncut, untucked, tryin' help me one up One OC 8, oh makes me a whole Entirely different type of a-hole Gotta proper bank roll, Betty drop that thing slow Motherfuckin' load the devil
Re-Up Gang Pusha (Looking for trouble, trouble, trouble) But you found it muthafucker Yes All I see is black roses, drug dealer poses shoveling that devil
I'ma conceal you In a closet with mildew, sheets, pillows and film you Fuck with me, I been through hell, shut the hell up I'm tryin' to develop these pictures of the Devil
first class to ya grave i'm sending em Give me the rock and i'ma run it back To all my young niggas out thurr stugglin i hope you make a jack where you
Two thousand and two thousand four hundred and eighty seven million Nine hundred and seventy three thousand four hundred and sixty three And seventy
can call out your guards You can fence in your yard You can pull all the cards But I wont back down Oh no I wont back down Oh no Cadillacs, Coupe Devilles
I breathe ether in three amounts When I stab myself in the knee with a diseased needle Releasin' rage on anybody in squeezing range Cold enough to make
don't say those three words to me So I don't ever have to be true" She said, "Don't ever tell me that you need me Just don't say those three words to
There are voices on the street Talkin' much too loud If you're playing with the devil sister Don't be too proud We got plans to make We got people
come home from 'Nam worked my way to scarfer A job that'd suit the devil as well Taconite coke and limestone Fed my children and make my pay Them
-headin for the sky-im on my way Verse Three Yea to all my niggas paper chasing I pray for your patience-please- Just keep the faith that you gon' make
just textbook stuff It's in the ABC of growing up There, there baby, it's just textbook stuff It's in the ABC of growing up [XV - Verse 1] Yeah, three
street mobster. Refrain Verse Three: Lord Finesse It's the F-I-N-E-double-S-E, don't play or stress me Cause that shit don't impress me I make papes
Funky, alright One time for your mind, two times for Mumia's saint crew Three times for my Brooklyn dimes, seven times for pleasure I don't trip, I don
spots, bang, 11 Hangin' like bats,'cause the 12 inch wax Say scorpio and my hair say 'fro And my blood say bro, my clics say, "Eh, yo!" Make sparks from
, don't get your grey matter punched up 'til you hunched, talk-talkin like you punch drunk One love - two maybe if I'm drunk enough Naked watchin three