Cam’ron, J.R. Writer, Juelz Santana - Your Way lyrics

Aight - yo i ain't gon' front
I always thought he was a survivor
Shells and rounds, held 'em down
When he was in the fire
Now feds got him tapped from
The sneakers to attire just like Kanye West
Speakin' through the wire
Like: "Don't forget
Make sure you speak into the wire!"
Thinkin' not he was singin'
He would be up in the choir when I find 'em
I'ma put the heater to his visor
All he's gon' see is the
Screechin' on the tire
Up the block, bang a right, make a left
Thang I light, made 'em stretch
Candlelights, graves are set
Not only that though - all his weight was wet
Hustle dummies, fucked up money
And was way in debt

It was all good just a week ago
We was together smokin', hella reefer smoke
All in the vehicle
I got the word back: he was in the vehicle
With the D's, I bet he thought he was low
Damn, this nigga spent the night in my crib
Sat in my mom's kitchen
Now he go off snitchin' but this my man
I could just stop fuckin' wit' 'em
Like I'm just not fuckin' wit''emor just
Pop one up in 'em
Plus - there's rules here: if you
Play where the rats play
You gotta go, you must lay where the rats lay
Hate to see a nigga that I broke bread with
His whole head split - cold, dead, stiff

See he opposed when we slapboxed
Then we dove the crack rocks
Jackpot: Golden Rolls when we
Drove the Jag drops
Du rag top, ock, we cut the cheese together
Legos, ate Eggos
Went to Chuck E cheese together
We watched Chucky, Shucky Ducky
We were lucky had a Huffy, then a buggy
Sold dubs, and twenty three's the weather
Now he got the nerve, to get lazy
Watch me serve with guac? or herb
Now he gettin 'jealous cuz I'm coppin' birds
And he wired like MoneyGram
I got the doctrine went to the spy store so
I watched who's watchin'
And you thinkin' that Cam's
Sweet? Damn the street
Fuck rock he ran to sleep
I'm cuttin off his hands and feet
And his glands and teethyeah
The mission get done
Dunn, this bitch is the one
That told me to christen my son!
And the muscle tight, he wouldn't tussle
Fight fucked up his juggle
He couldn't hustle right
Shoulda came for a loan
You know that scrilla's like
But what's ill tonight
Killa gotta kill his wife
Yup, address her homey
Won't say he left her lonely
Seen some transactions
Don't need a testimony
And I'm no punk, I pump lead bastard
When I dump, you'll get bumped
Yeah them bunkbed caskets
And a brother just smiled
I just got him a ditch
Another motherless child
Cuz they father's a snitch