Whutcha Want_ - Nine

I gets banned if I

Do gets banned if I don't

So sometimes I will

And sometimes I won't

Puff mad stick crack

A forty down the back

Sit fat and relax

And plan my attack

Not the one to test

I posess mad finesse

My buddha was blessed

One bird in the nest

Chills with my peeps

Steady bouncing in jeeps

On the New York streets

Hittin urban concrete

I'm the man untestable

With the extraterrestrial flow

Fo'-fifty-fix celo pop the top

Off the forty ounce bottle

I'm not the one to follow

I'm not the role model

Hollow tips in my clips

Money grip and my Glock

Only spits when I react

To the bullshit

So give me room to breathe

And get up off DEEZ

And save the confessions for JEESuz

Plus I don't need to hear no sorrow

Eff it the sun will

Still come out tomorrow

Long as I'm breathing needing

Even like Steven

Achieving gettin some cheese and

Representin lovely

Boogie Down Bronx major

With the project flavor

I made ya daze ya

My behavior is mad ill if you front

You know what I want

(Whutcha want Nine) Fat beats for my rides

(So whutcha want Nine) Mad clips for my nines

(So whutcha want Nine) A ill posse

And my name up in lights N-I-N-E

I'ma let you know

How I feel on the real

I pack steel it's like a jungle

Makes me wonder where my eel is

Hits the bricks skips the dog

Sh*t complete in my cipher

Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper

Hyper like a viper

I'ma strike if I got it

Goin for the jugular

Stretch you like a copper

Stoppah stoppah

But you can't stop me

Just clock me just watch me

Blow up the spot G

Came a long way from

Back in the day

We did it for no pay

Just rhymin hit the hay and

Sleep wake up write another rhyme

Hit the park after dark

Drop the beat one time

That's when sh*t was real

No phonies no baloney

Just the homemade mics

And wheels of steel

Backup from the roof

Amp plugged in the street light

Everything right

Jam over a street fight

Back to the lab I grab my pen and pad

Raw lyrics make a fleuredoscad

Had no dinero enough

Get fo' chicken wings and rice

A forty ounce a nickel bag to get nice

And now I might make a million

And still son

It makes the heart pump

You know what I want

Be like Elmer J Fudd

With the mansion and the yacht

Brand new Glock non-stop hip-hop

Remote control boombox

Lampin on my dresser

The God ain't no lesser

As the pressure comes to test ya

Hundred pound weight

Around the neck daily

Nuff treasons nuff reasons

Like Philip Bailey

Can't get enough of that funky stuff

Rhymin astronomical

Original sh*t is phenomenal

Heat up the ghetto put

The pedal to the metal

Speed like Racer treat you

Like a wack rhyme and erase ya

Right off the pape

I roll a big fat spliff

Four-fifth on the hip Heineken

In the grip sh*t I'm ready

Get the keys for the jeep

Let's bounce

Cruise avenues get some brews

And sing the blues with the

Funkmaster Flex cassette in the deck

I'm in effect I move my neck

While Son gets wreck

Oh what a feeling

I'm on the wheels of steel and

I snatch up some skins for some sexual healing

Erything's kosher copasctetic

Groovy hip-hop moves me

Soothes me

I'm letting off like an uzi

But first steps a doozy and bruise me

Now I'm choosy before

I start to freak it like a floozy

I wanna get big get paid true stunt

You know what I want

(Whutcha want Nine) Fat beats for my rides

(So whutcha want Nine) Mad clips for my nines

(So whutcha want Nine) A ill posse

And my name up in lights N-I-N-E