The PJ's
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Lyrics
Yo man, get your ass in here man, you
Know the fucking police looking for you?
Come on man
Them niggas just left here man
Come on man, you know we got mad fucking
Blow up in the motherfucking lab son
This nigga's off the hook man
Yo Chef, talk to these niggas man
We bagging ounces in the back of the Mas'
Ostrich on, wool riches, three-quarter knits Adidas with Stan Smiths
The grant's on the stove, and Aunt Lo about to come to the labvo
She giving me some credit for clothes
That's the slang word for bricks
Dicks analyze, you never know who lookin'
In this deranged world, where snitches is enterprising
Black man hold on like magnums in the wind
Cuz when it get cold, parole'll give a homey like ten
What's the prognosis, drugs, guns, ounces of goldfish
Fly reefer, out of town bitches'll stone six
And birds back to eighteen, and play cream, gray beamers lean
New Adidas jackets, flipping them store deans
Visualize the portraits, fresh cuts, brand new Porsches
Going hand to hand, serving the sauce yo
Running from the police, this day to day lifestyle
Where niggas get arraigned and get jailed, it's like a psycow, blaow!
Drug dealers, stars and celebrities
Even dudes with a few felonies
In the PJ's this what they telling me
Sniffing real hard but you not smelling me
The crowd yelling for Chef, Killa and Pete Rock
Got 'em moving like the millennium beatbox
Ma, shit is all good till they hear the heat cock
Fall back and let the beat rock
Degrees of experience qualifies me to speak
In certain areas where many can't reach
So I prepare the speech for y'all to then listen
While I spit the hot venomous shit, my whole clique's sick
Infested with the itchy trigger finger, Mobb related
Noodle leaning, universal flag beanie
Son you wouldn't want to see me blacked down
Masta four pound, clip full of hollow tip round
Turn the fucking sound up, my cup runneth over
Hennessy to Bill Bixby, ninja scroll, niggas that roll
My son did four in the hole, tenant population
Never told, facing parole, sip the Old Gold style
Beat it in trial, mild-mannered, nine banded, flow drunk
Liquor, skunk, weed stick 'em, razor sharp, rip 'em, vice lift 'em
We at the jam direct, the ghetto gospel
Collaboration, one word, change the nation, no doubt
Drug dealers, stars and celebrities
Even dudes with a few felonies
In the PJ's this what they telling me
Sniffing real hard but you not smelling me
The crowd yelling for Chef, Killa and Pete Rock
Got 'em moving like the millennium beatbox
Ma, shit is all good till they hear the heat cock
Fall back and let the beat rock
Tuna salad and Puma rackets, pushing through the projects
Capped it, get your money yo, show me no slacking
We drive the meanest joint, shoot through Medina with Evisu jeans
And Nina's, stop by Junior's we hitting cheeba
We full lit, crackers observe, you got the undercovers
Niggas just love us, yo we know that they suckers
You know what? (What?) Mozie don't be nosy
Yo watch these fake niggas with these thank you cards
Them shits is bogus, snitches in the hood up to no good
We would kill a lot of motherfuckers but the timing ain't good
So while my bankroll climbing, I be out on consignment
Breezing, ki's for twenty-nine, let 'em melt the Cheez-Its
All of my paper now in real estate
White folks been doing this since '69, there's billions in Kilo weight
So prosperous moves with the jewels with Wu Nikes on
It's cool, don't you ever act like niggas ain't rude, one
Drug dealers, stars and celebrities
Even dudes with a few felonies
In the PJ's this what they telling me
Sniffing real hard but you not smelling me
The crowd yelling for Chef, Killa and Pete Rock
Got 'em moving like the millennium beatbox
Ma, shit is all good till they hear the heat cock
Fall back and let the beat rock
Yeah, we just sit back
In the luxury toasters
Slide through the motherfucking projects
Staying away from you fake ass motherfuckers
Laying up in the barbershops getting fucked up cuts
We don't respect y'all, knahmsayin?
This is Shallah, Louis Rich
Pete Rock, Masta Killa
The Vatican, one, I'm gone