Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Big Noyd
Vocals
Esther Phillips
Sampled Artist
Havoc
Vocals
Prodigy
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Tajuan Perry
Songwriter
Albert Johnson
Songwriter
Kejuan Muchita
Songwriter
Mayfield W. Small, Jr.
Songwriter
Kamaal Ibn John Fareed
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Tim Latham
Recording Engineer
Tony Smalios
Mixing Engineer
Leon Zervos
Mastering Engineer
Mobb Deep
Executive Producer
Matt Life
Executive Producer
Schott Free
Executive Producer
The Abstract
Producer
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Word up, man, know what I'm sayin'?
So I be tellin' these ****, man, shit ain't a game
Man, shit is real kid, word up
(Tell 'em Dunn, man, let them **** know)
Know what I'm sayin'? Shit is definitely real, boy
Yeah, tryna get this loot anyway, man
[Verse 2]
Ayo, Queens get the money long time no cash
I'm caught up in the hustle where the guns go blast
The fool retaliated, so I had to think fast
Pull out my heat first, he pull out his heat last
Now who the fuck you think is livin' to this day?
I'm tryna tell these young **** crime don't pay
They looked at me and said, Queen's **** don't play
Do your thing, I'll do mine, kid, stay outta my way
It's type hard tryna survive in New York state
But can't stop till I'm eatin' off a platinum plate
Po-po comes around and tries to relocate me
Lock me up forever but they can't deflate me
'Cause havin' cash is highly addictive
Especially when you're used to havin' money to live with
I thought step back look at my life as a whole
Ain't no love it seems the devil done stole my soul
I'm out for Delphia, selfia, P's not helpin' ya
I'm tryna get this Lexus up, and plus a cellular
Yo, Big Noyd! (What up cousin?) I can't cope
With all these crab **** tryna shorten my rope
[Verse 3]
Yo, it's the R-A-double P-E-R-N-O-Y-D
**** can't fuck with me
Comin' straight outta QB
Pushin' an Infiniti
You ask can I rip it constantly? Mentally?
Definitely, 'till the death of me, come and test me
Trust me, **** can't touch me if he snuffed me
So bust me, you're gonna have to, 'cause I'ma blast you
My lyrical like a miracle, ill spiritual
I'm born with it, I'm gettin' on with it
And I'mma have it 'til I'm fuckin' dead and gone with it (Gone with it)
'Cause I'm a what? Composer of hardcore, a lyrical destructor
Don't make me buck ya, 'cause I'm a wild motherfucka
You know I flow, you know my steelo
Even pack my gat when I go to see my PO
Jump out my hooptie, pass my gat and my loot
To my shorty in case my PO try to troop me
To the island, and if I start wildin'
Flippin' on **** walkin' around with the nice gold medallions
But she didn't violate me, so I escaped, see
Back to Queen's pumpin' the fiends makin' more cream
Know what I mean? I'm a natural born hustler
Won't try to cut ya, pull out my four-four and bust ya
[Verse 4]
Yo, ain't no time for fakin' jacks
The brothers that fake jacks
Get laid on their backs, the streets is real
Can't roll without steel, I feel how I feel
'Cause I was born to kill, do what I gotta
To eat a decent meal, brothers is starvin'
Been tryna find a job, son, it's all about robbin'
So don't be alarmed when we come through
We supposed to, if you opposed to, get your face blown, duke
Off the map, 'cause I react, attack
A brother wasn't blessed with wealth, so I act like that
Drug dealin', only mess with shorties that's appealin'
I'm frontin' on the world once I start four-wheelin' (Four wheelin')
'Cause back on the 41st Side, we do it right
Sippin' E&J, gettin' bent all night
Yo, who that? I never seen him in my whole life, step to his business
'Cause it's only right, po-po ain't around, so I grab my pound
Money, retaliated so I hit the ground, my life was on the line
Gotta hold my projects down, can't see myself gettin' bodied
By a clown-ass **** that ain't even from my town
Hit him up in the chest, now he's layin' it down dead
Jetted up from under the benches, I started hearin' sirens
I stopped firin' and cut ass like a diamond, jetted to the crib-piece
What a relief, stashed the heat then proceeded to peep
Out the window, call my son, yo son, we got beef
But no question, money had a problem so I solved 'em, solved 'em
[Verse 5]
I got my mind on the stick-up, now it's time to get paid
Thinkin' of ways to take loot already made
There's crime in the air, ain't no time to be afraid
Give me yours or get laid (Laid, laid)
Give up the goods and get sprayed
[Verse 6]
I got lots of love for my crew that is
No love for them other crews and rival kids
All them out-of-town **** know what time it is
And if they don't, they need to buy a watch, word up
Caught up in the cross-fire, get they-self hurt up
While I be sippin' gin straight in a plastic cup
On a park bench on 12th Street, my whole crew's famous
You tried to bust your gat and keep it real but you nameless
First of all slow down, you on the wrong route
Let me put you on your feet and show you what's it all about
The street life ain't nothin' to play with
No jokes, no games, kid, for years I've been doin' the same shit
Just drinkin' liquor, doin' bids, extortin' crack heads
And stickin' up the stick-up kids
(Stick-up kids, stick-up kids)
Written by: Albert Johnson, John Davis, Kamaal Fareed, Kejuan Muchita, Mayfield W. Small, Jr., Tajuan Perry