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freddie foxxx - turn up the mics (remix) lyrics

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[intro: nas]
i only f-ck with my n-ggas, i gotta keep it tight
with my big brother, bumpy knuckles
we gon’ ride on these n-ggas my n-gga, huh
turn up the mics, yeah, lets get crazy, n-gga, what
turn up the mics, y’all b-tch-a-s n-ggas is swayze
check it out

[verse 1: nas]
i’m nasty but f-ck b-tches, handcuff snitches
feed they nuts to pit bulls and plan more business
got sl-ts on leashes walkin on all fours
have ’em eatin from dog bowls pettin’ they heads
cause they love playin that role they s-xy in bed
smokin bud’ i’m outta control wish death on the feds
cup spills with grey goose watchin snuff films
laughin with dyk-s that wear patent leather with spikes
my cheddar is right, miami beach playin it low
st. barts rent a house and a boat
two hundred thou’ on my throat
that’s only half of what my wife ice cost
phonecall, hearin another boss got his life lost
well, wiping sand off of my toes
read a book called “catcher in the rye”, i chose
some bob marley then i plotted a scheme
to make me and bump knux more rich
then i got me a team, he got ’em a team
he tryin to buy g-force with missile launchers
tired of walkin’ around with beef, with that pistols on us
c-4’s better i’m callin up some b-more k!llers
to come and bleed you
as sure as the sun’s in the sky you’ll surely die
you washed up, f-ck your people
your money ain’t as long as mine you dumb and you foul
who you tryin to squeeze all this f-ck with alzheimer’s disease
we the new breed, n-gga

[chorus: nas & bumpy knuckles] (dj premier scratchin)
turn up the mics
uh holler at somebody real
turn out the lights
bump knux, god’s son get it right motherf-cker
turn up the mics
(aha yeah turn the motherf-ckers up)
turn out the lights
(that’s right ya’ll know why, i tell you why)
suicide suicide

[verse 2: bumpy knuckles]
it’s bump i’m rowdy i’m wild
i’m crazy i’m sick i talk sl!ck
name brand b-tches all on my d-ck
i don’t trip i meet b-tches in this game that got pretty famous names
all that projects’ p-ssy, n-gga, all the same
we gangsters, we keepin it hardcore keep it street
keepin guns and microphones, be keepin heat
i’m the unsquashable beef i put it in your rider
that means that every show i be layin in your dressing room
next to the henney rock two times .20 c-cked
i’m a cold -ssed n-gga that keep sh-t plenty hot
my bubble goose is stocked with double truth
for you old–ssed gangsters and you troubled youth
knowing i hate cops and n-ggas with cop friends
and still by weight in the hood they drop ends
with little marks on ’em scratched by the eye
you hand me a twenty, you must wanna die
n-gga, i won’t remake a pac record or say a biggie verse
and i shoot you without smokin a ziggy marley first
god’s son we hot in here
bravehearts we hot in here, n-ggas they got to fear!

[outro: nas]
turn up the mics, yeah lets get crazy, n-gga whut
turn up the mics, y’all b-tch -ss n-ggas is swayze
check it out
turn up the mics, yeah lets get crazy, n-gga whut
turn up the mics, y’all b-tch -ss n-ggas is swayze
check it out
turn up the mics, yeah lets get crazy, n-gga whut
turn up the mics, y’all b-tch -ss n-ggas is swayze
shh

- freddie foxxx lyrics

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