Freeway, Faith Evans - Don't Cross the Line lyrics

The name F-R-Double the E
The gat heck'ler end with a koch clip
Back, flip, hands spring semi your V
You callin' all, and run to the cops
Don't make me wet y'all
With what's under the t-shirt
The heat hurt, blew off ya front porch
Your backyard ya'll niggas like dicks, pause
Thick jaws, act hard, so they keep squirting
I move work often
Like when New York couldn't beat Boston
Controllin' the nicks, I float on ya block
Hop out, post up, move rocks often
Shut the shot down, pass it to Chris
If your boss got twelve on the neck
Ten in the arm
And my gat at the end of my arms
Hittin' the clip prick
Flippin' ya vet, causin' you harm, nigga
Ya'll need a place of respect
We runnin' shit

The name F-R-Double the E, tell 'em
Don't really wanna cross the line and
I don't wanna have to tell ya twice, and
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble your way
W-A-to the Y, tell 'em
Niggas that don't show love
Then they gets no love
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble this parts

F-R-E, bubble the ride, and in all
Came from takin' the trip, stuffin' the ride
Yea i'mma ride it on every of your ride
Caught in every broad or market, park it
Hop out in deer crew
The heat is on perfect, tuckin' the linin'
I'm fine and trynna get
Some tickets for sliding
Freeway's in full effect
And all these bitches want from me
Is just to hear my rhymes
And I don't gotta boss 'em to give nectar
The boy give check-ups, I get neck
When I don't ask
When mami's say the 'x', make my
Baby mama ex look extra fly, and I
Don't wanna force y'all to give checks, uh
Without tax
Freeway shoot ya from ya head to ya toe
From ya toes to ya neck
That's what the boy brought, extra large

The name F-R-Double the E, tell 'em
Don't really wanna cross the line and
I don't wanna have to tell ya twice and
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble your way
W-A-to the Y, tell 'em
Niggas that don't show love
Then they gets no love
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble this parts

Freeway bring trouble to soloists
The sawed off split, get the fuck outta dodge
Know this, I came from nothing
So ain't nothing for my gauge to duck
You punks, get outta line, and I cock back
Bloody ya tee
Pull ya top back, drive through at McDonald's
In front of Ronald, put ya
Brains on ya Big Mac, make
Sure the bitch don't leave
I got a gat and a clip in each sleeve
With boxers, so my dick can breathe
Breeze through in the '89
Delt with my boys with my whistle on freeze
That's how you know I got the block on smash
Act up, I put your stripper on freeze
Me and Sieg', like Snoop and Daz
Because tricks that fuck
Couldn't give me the ass
And they roll up, light up
Pass me the trees, come on

The name F-R-Double the E, tell 'em
Don't really wanna cross the line and
I don't wanna have to tell ya twice, and
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble your way
W-A-to the Y, tell 'em
Niggas that don't show love
Then they gets no love
Trick, R-O-C bring trouble this parts