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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Memphis Bleek
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Chris Martin
Songwriter
Malik Cox
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
DJ Premier
Producer
Eddie Sancho
Mixing Engineer
Dexter Tabou
Assistant Engineer
Lyrics
Bringing the drama
Trying to come up in the game
Add a couple of dollars signs to my name
Roc-a-Fella, y'all
Waiting for my day to come
Just give me the word
Nah, this ain't Jigga
It's your little ****, Bleek
Reporting to these mother******* live from the street
Game, I peep those
My mind so advance
At nine I used to **** hoes
For Easter clothes
Peep the steeze
I represent for all those with twenty eight grams
On the come up trying to creep the keys
Large n***** told me, pop the car
Keep the keys
Find a hood rat and creep the Mickey D's
First gun, two bullets
N***** know I do pull it
N***** trying to kill me, dawg, who wouldn't
Screw Gooden, I pitch in the P J's
Lit off the E J's, I split Dutchies with my ring finger
You find a b**** that only cream bring her
Last thing with Bing, he got drawn between us
**** is constant, that's why I pack the Johnson & Johnson
For the nonsense, who wants it?
I go to sleep with a picture of a Porsche on my wall
Man, I'm trying to come up on y'all
Get one up on y'all
That's why I hustle in these streets
From sundown to sunup on y'all
Mama said, keep bull*******, they'll kill you dead
One week of this hustling bought a living room's set
Went to torn these n***** mad veins out
Cop the Jordans two weeks before they came out
Flashy, fly little ****
Know he **** from the third floor like, why little n****?
****, please
Twist the trees
Took a long pull like, ****, breathe
That's my answer, life's like cancer
And I'm serious
Written by: DJ Premier, JAY-Z, Malik Cox