Busta Rhymes, Red Cafe, Uncle Murda, Maino - Murdergram 2009 lyrics

Uh! Niggas is dead! Dead I
Tell you! Can't be serious!
Know what'll happen when you take three
Of the realest niggas in Brooklyn!
Street niggas and such, mix 'em
All up in one track, it's Brooklyn!
Uh! Heh heh! Can't be serious! yeah! yeah!

Motherfuckers wanna kill me but
Don't got the heart to look me in the eyes
With the nine that spark
Cause whether you for or against
Us my murderous henchmen
Leave shots in the same hoodie you dressed in
No it's not a miracle
Baby I'm that incredible
Street certified come on salute a general
Your outta my league I refuse to war with you
Simply I got more guns than you
Keep the tek where my son live
The llama at the other house
Shotty in the car streetsweeper
At my mama's house
No sense I lost my damn mind now
One shot'll leave abd gun
Powder around your eyebrows
I'm the realest you niggas better comply now
Make way for the king the streets is mine now
I'm G and shit stripes like Adidas's
Chris Brown damn right I beat a bitch!!
This year the game 'gon let the crooks in
Till the day that I die it's Brooklyn!
It's R
I hope y'all, know I'm comin for that crown
And my niggas hungry
Don't bring your jewelry around
'Cause we eat food
And I got some broads to squeeze too
In the +Boiler Room+ supplyin "Vin Diesel"
Dressed in the ice, it's dark
Dim the lights in the jails and I reach you
It's nothin to send a kite
And my dogs all bite, we be right in the hood
Down for anything, even knockin down Suge
I'm necessary, see the ghetto need Red
They know I got the juice like A-Rodriguez
(WHAT ELSE?)
And I'ma come clean with the bump-bump thing
Extended clips, like I'm on somethin
And if you pickin out Gs' in a line-up (yep)
It's only a matter of time
'fore you get lined up (yep)
And you get bucked down, I'm from Bucktown
Shakedown, ready for war, wassup now?!

I'm from where dudes they got shit
Where dudes'll kill they man
Like 'Pone killed Rich
Or they'll sell drugs to they own mamas
Long as she come correct
With them motherfuckin dollars
(What you want, mommy?)
Or they might let her go for a dollar, black
If she two dollars short
They gon' tell her to holla back
(Can't help you mommy)
You know me, I'm right where the trail m
When the club like where duke I'm
Beefin wit baby mom at (Baby)
My lil' brother locked up for a shooting
He remind me of me, I was a bad influence
(Sorry grandma)
Man, I had so many guns in the crib
Saw so many people who wanted to be
Like me when they got big (f'real)
I'm cocky, AIN'T a emcee iller than me
And I know for sure ain't none
Of these dudes realer than me! (They not)
I'm the future, I'll shoot ya
Ain't hard to tell if I ain't the hottest
It got to be snow in the L
I'm tired of these sucka ass niggas
They get record deals to start
Frontin like they killas
(It ain't snowin down there)
Now, buck buck, before all this rap shit
They was goody-two shoes in the hood
- They ain't never clapped SHIT! (OH)

Cock back and and watch the Mac push
Your fuckin head off
Now buss a shot for East Flatbush!
Only time we pull it and party
And waste bullets without hurtin somebody
It's the fourth of July!
Fireworks pop in the air
Takin them chances rinsin the cartridge
Cuttin the tree branches
(IN BROOKYLN!) Even the children
Will catch it
That's why when we was younger we