Free Murda, Sha-Cronz, RZA - My Black Nina lyrics

Peace to the God, what up, what up?
ShaCronz, Free Murda, what's the word-word
Son? (What up Bobby?)
Ain't nothing, just living, son
(looking good baby)
But you know how we do it
You know what i mean
(what you got on right there, baby?)
Oh, on the feet, son? You know I got
The ill Wu Wear Slaps on my feet, son
(Nobody got those what's those son?) yeah
I got the Roc-A Wear sweats
Popping right here, thunn know what i mean
(Hold up, son, what the fuck is that yo
What's that bulging out your jacket, son?)

My, black, ninas, bust through project doors
Fake suspect 85's, on the floor
Cops yell 'raid', I wasn't afraid
And I won't stop busting, til I get paid
Black ninas ("My, A")

Everyday I live this thug shit
Surrounded by plus whips
Sitting on dubs, bitch
I run with a rough click
Dare one of ya'll to say
Something about my team
I know you fake gangstas out your lean
Shoot through your heart, choke you up
Then rip out your spleen
If there's a drought in New York
I'm down south with fiends
Cash Rule Everything, so give it up, pa
Stash, jewels, everything, we glittered up
Pa rocking your shit, popping your bitch
Send fire, raise an empire
Copping more bricks
From a place where the chicks holding
Ride or die
Walk with a switch, hips swollen
Pitch coke and crack
Get money, til I die, hit honeys til I fry
Grew up grungy, hungry til I ride
Apply pressure, time's short
Need this project cake
Lean on 'em, like project gates

CCF, yo the whole hood on some shit
Niggas is sheisty
Can't explain how them faggots in the P's
Might be all stick each other
Like teens holding tightly try and light me
Be the last nigga you might see
Your wifey, grieving in the morgue
That like me i splash you, have your gash
Look like the swoosh from Nike
Fucking freaking bodies in the process
Get you clapped by my set
Ya'll niggas doggin' Free, you gon' die wet
Chicks in the P's hoeing
Them bitches stay blowing
Them bitches stay boning, my guns stay toting
Stick niggas that be holding
When I clap ya'll folding
Leave foods in the streets, soaking
K Tone in my crib, loading
Brown flag on my wrist rolling
Head shots til ya'll open
Up like a store in the morning
Have you laying dead in the
Train station like a rodent