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mobb deep - dirt (remix) lyrics

[prodigy]
call it how it is – according to the facts
if rap was prison our sh-t would be the supermax
no sunshine, just dark skies
nothing but dark thoughts going through my mind
i got bad blood, mad love only for the team though
everyone one of us is the shooter, now where the beef go
i ain’t seen none of these n-ggas and we out here
wanna be celebrity thugs a lot of mouth, yeah
oh my god we could not be f-cked with
real sh-t look at our life all in the public
we under the microscope they all watching us
we have no choice but to keep it trill they sizing us
and if they wasn’t god, always pay attention don’t he
i couldn’t live with myself being phony
look, if life was a game then i guess we winning
cuz this life we made for ourselves is b-tching

[havoc]
didn’t want to do it but the voices tug and pullin’
on my eardrums something that i knew i shouldn’t
got me wildin with the ratchet out like sh-t is legal
looking for a victim put ’em in the fetal
f-ck is going on? when it’s on i know it’s on
but sh-t not really popping and i’m looking for a war
looking out my window pointing sh-t at police
to make matters worse i’m sipping on some oe
sh-t got me buzzing, i’m already bugging though
with mad [???] bottles that i drank about a month ago
f-ck is on my mind? i’m feeling bipolar
plus paranoid looking over both shoulders
i woke up with blood on my hands
f-ck i do this time? now a n-gga scared
f-ck, i’ll probably get the f-cking chair
grab my f-cking gun, a few clothes son i’m outta here

[ghostface k!llah]
hey yo hav, what’s good with ya boy?
hey yo p, why they f-ckin with the baby?
got me ready to spaz, son tell him be easy
for easy fews, i get’em chunked in the shishkebabs
i got scars, n-gga, i lay bars, lay …, lay laws
roast a n-gga like…
son, you god d-mn right i f-ck fans, i live on tour
i raise again to shake, my gun got bling on it
move like the mexican cartel, behead and kingfold
br-ss knuckle your jaw, belt buckle your wh0r-
take it back to my stapleton days, i’m quick on the draw
c-cky, my amex(?) swallows, grip the streets
i make a b-tch shower that -ss, before she slides in the sheets
allow meat, fresh veggie bowl of sour diesel leaves
and burn sh-t, ’till i’m back like christopher reeve
f-ck the febreze, i’m stinkin’ like that ol’ dirty b-st-rd
that’s that wu and mobb sh-t, don’t turn it up, blast it

- mobb deep lyrics

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