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pete rock - the pj's lyrics

[raekwon]
yo man get ya -ss in here man
you know the f–kin’ police lookin’ for you man?
come on man, them n-gg-z just left here man
come on man you know we got mad f–kin’ blow up in the motherf–kin’ lab son
this n-gg-‘s off the hook man, yo chef talk to these n-gg-z man

[raekwon]
we baggin’ ounces in the back of the maz’
ostrich on, wollriches, three quarter-ness
a.d.i.d.a.s. wit’ stan smith’s the grants on the stove
and aunt lo about to come to the lab-o
she givin’ me some credit for clothes
that’s the slang work for bricks, d-cks -n-lyze
you never know who lookin’ it’s deranged world
wit’ snitches is enterprisin’ black man hold on
like magnums in the wind cause when it get cold
parole give a homey like ten
what’s the prognosis?: drugs, guns, and ounces
of gold fish fly reefer out-town, b-tches is stone six
and birds back in 18 and played c.r.e.a.m gray beam
it’s lean new a.d.i.d.a.s jackets
flippin’ up small dean visualizin’ portraits
fresh cuts brand new porsche’s going wit hand-to-hand
servin’ the source yo, runnin’ from the police
this day-to-day lifestyle where n-gg-z get arraigned & get chain
it’s like cycle–blaow!

[chorus: pete rock]
drug dealers, stars & celebrities (ghetto celebs)
even dudes with a few felonies (a few felonies)
in the pj’s this what they tellin’ me (tellin’ who?)
sniffin’ real hard but you not smellin’ me (smell me)
the crowd yellin’ for chef, killa & pete rock (pete rock)
got ’em movin’ like the millenium beat box (beat box)
sh-t is all hood ’till they hear the heat c-ck (whoo!)
fall back & let the beat rock

[masta killa]
degrees of experience qualifies me to speak in certain areas where many can’t reach
so i prepared a speech for y’all to then listen while i spit the hot venomous sh-t
my whole clique sick, infested wit’ the itchy tigger finger mob related noodle-leanie
universal flag beanie, son you wouldn’t want to see me black down
masta .4 pound clip full of hollow tip
round turn the f–kin’ sound up, my cup runneth over hennessey
the bill bixby ninja scroll, n-gg-z that roll
my son did four in the hole, tenant population, neva told, facin’ parole
sipped the old gold style, beat it in trial
my mild-mannered .9 bandit, flow drunk look at skunk weed
stickin’ razor sharp rip ’em, bites lift ’em we at the jam direct
the ghetto gospel, collaboration
nine word could change the nation, no doubt!

[chorus]

[raekwon]
tuna salad & puma rackets pushin’ through the projects
captain get your money yo show me no slackin
we drive the meanest joints shoot through medina wit’ a evisu jeans
and ninas stop by juniors we hittin’ cheeba briefly
crackers observe you got the undercovers, n-gg-z just love us
we know that they suckers, you know what? – what? mosey don’t be nosey yo!
watch these fake n-gg-z wit’ these thank you cards them sh-ts is bogey
snitches in the hood up to no good
we would kill a lot of motherf–kers but the timin’ ain’t good
so while my bankroll climbin’ i be out on consignment
breezin’ ki’s wit 29 letter melted cheeses
all of my papers now in real estate white folks
been doin’ this since ’69 it’s billions & killer weight
so prosperous moves wit’ the jewels, wit wu nikes on
it’s cool don’t eva act like n-gg-z ain’t who (?) one!

[chorus]

[raekwon]
yeah! we just sit back in the luxury toasters
slidin’ through the motherf–kin’ projects
stand away from you fake -ss motherf–ker’s
layin’ up in the barbershops gettin’ f–ked up cuts
we don’t respect y’all (respect y’all)
knaw’sayin’? this is shala louis rich, pete rock, masta killa, the vatican
one! i’m gone

“well this next number i’m gonna dedicate to my barber
cause he been tr-mm-ng me for the last past 3 years”
“heh… heh… heeh.heh… heeh… heeeeeeey!”

- pete rock lyrics

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