swizz beatz – swizz n 4 beatz lyrics
(swizz beatz)
ruff ryders, 1-2, 1-2
g.e.t.t.o. stories, swizz beatz
makin’ it happen
listen to what the f-ck i got to say
i’m from the hood
i love the hood
i rep the hood, lived in the hood
started on the grind, started with a 9
motherf-cker, i had to earn mine
n-gg-, a lot of n-gg-s hatin’, a lot of n-gg-s watchin’
a lot of n-gg-s plottin’, a lot of hearts stoppin’
uh, believe that, i’m bangin’ with the beats
i bang with the streets, i’m bangin’ with the heat
s – to the double – i – to the double – z
n-gg-s look at me – want no trouble b
i’m just mindin’ my business
makin’ money, stackin’ chips, just mindin’ my business
you can catch me in the 3-60 or, odena, blowin’ down the pasadena
the rebel appeal, go ‘head, appeal, that b-tch will squeal
that’s when that hoe’s dyin’, cause if i’m in court it’s guaranteed i’m lyin’
f-ckers, i had to get my business right
had to get my money right, had to get my label right
you can hate all you want, i’m here forever
swizz beatz part whatever, i’m here forever, b-tch
(shyne)
swizz, po
step out gangsta n-gg-
lay down
what you know ’bout rollin’ out?
big tec, big vest, hollow tips all up in that kid neck
po live it up, yellow stones lit it up
long john silver’s tell, it’s the kid, n-gg- what?
some of y’all rap n-gg-s is girls
hold my d-ck, gappin’ and flappin’
f-ckin’ cartoons
these n-gg-s guns don’t go off until they say, “lights, camera, action!”
yo swizz, tell them n-gg-s, “eat a d-ck”
gun up in your face b-tch, that way we don’t miss
unload the sh-t, then reload the sh-t
and straight to the airport and unload some bricks
no lie, you n-gg-s see me comin’ down the streets
you’d think i was flyin’, 12 cylinders
brooklyn is mine n-gg-, move over
yeah i’m talkin’ to you – f-ckin’ d-ck blower
(sung with female)
for all of y’all keepin’ y’all in health
just to see you wild and enjoy yourself
cause it’s cool when you f-ckin’ with a n-gg- like me
cool when you ridin’ with a n-gg- like me
(female singing)
to all my marla mable b-tches just (shine)
to all my n-gg-s keep it gully just (shine)
to all the ghettos in america (shine)
i’ma keep it gangsta till i die n-gg- (shine)
(styles – the lox)
ya really ain’t beefin’
ya wanna talk to god? then my 9 is the phone line to reach him
i thought about it hard and long
and came up with the answer to myself that god is wrong
cause if y’all that the best you can do
to f-ck with paniro, then after these bars, i’m gone
i’m harder than a year in the box
my head is to pop without a ox on a murderous block
and they never {edited} for years, what?
cause if it 44 cells, i feel like its h-ll
been 22 n-gg-s goin’ off of the tear
time magazine, p should get the “boss of the year”
tinted magazine, you could get the “corpse of the year”
bout to kidnap the rappers, knock out they eyes
so n-body gotta watch when i floss of the year
and if you heard p spittin’, then it’s all for the ears, what?
motherf-cka
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