Funkmaster Flex, Capone-N-Noreaga - What Son What lyrics

Let's keep it grimy! (get with that shit)
What y'all niggas get man?
What y'all gets murder unit (murder unit)
Or burn unit (burn unit)
Get a real fuckin life unit
(real life fuckin unit)
A real unit a motherfuckin, CNN shit (CNN)
My nigga Swift on the motherfuckin fours
(fours) we thugged out y'all (what)
Yo, yo we thugged out y'all!

I say I don't really give a fuck
Why do don't really give the fuck?
Cause, I don't really give a fuck
So we don't really give the fuck
You gon' roll with me? Hell yeah
What son what!? You gon' roll with me?
Hell yeah
What son what!? You gon' roll with me?
Hell yeah
What son what!? You gon' ride with me?
Hell yeah
What son what!? You gon' die with me?
Hell yeah what son what!?

Right every bill I stack another war
Story and track settle down for money hungry
Cats peddle the crack
Some strive to be the man but never
Make it that's the granted further
What part you playin the game
Who gonna slash worker
Some'll pray to Jesus
I pray to Jes to free us
Don't look for bail Rufus bail Criminal Court
When a judge holla "Father you sure?"
Cats never sent a nigga to jail
They send him bail
I been as real as I stealin free lunch
I got the greats from this old
Man give me hearse and
I made a move from a plan scauwered new land
(fuck a blue van)
My shoes bang, ficticious niggas
Walk in the path that I lead (I lead)
Do crime in New York, money and murder
Gentleman talk, ball like Atlanta Hawk
No respect, this on the stacks of the court
I started off in the street thing
Triple it's on

Ya niggas livin a lie, spittin the same
Its no room, no BI for y'all in the game
See me I, stay where it pop
Off the chain like my diss and it rocks
Movin the same is the strippin the spot
I'm hot, rock glizzery from the bottom to top
Grizzy, don't let it pop
Didn't he spy on these hoes
To piss off the killer in me
Me and six will slick through it (through it)
Bronx river to the con do it
I see Don P calm as me
Like spazin dead on your cheek
Like green to my eye, shit
Write it down sincere
Get to say my name in the air
Niggas pipe down, put they mic down
Niggas scared that we ain't even drop yet
Yet this year we show ya all who the hottest
(hottest) the projects, I rep to my death
(rep it nigga)
X'd out hoes, we regulate (X'd out hoes)
We ain't sharin or fillin 'boes
See how we go?

Keep the Mac under the seat
To fast niggas ready to creep
And my niggas stayin with heat
Like the hook go - what son what!?
Like the shit go - what son what!?
See me in the hood though
With a hood though, with a little puppet
And we doing no good though
Pussy sub, pussy sub, through the club
Niggas don't need no math
I rather, get head, I don't need no ass
Fuck all of y'all
Y'all don't really rep for me
I mean you, and you ain't the set for me
I'm in different vicinities
Gettin high with your enemies
So niggas better stop playin
Before I get the M-One and just start sprayin
Keep your block on lock, so now you go
Nigga, I sell bricks like my name Alpo

It's no rumor what you hear about us in clubs
Or freight some young Blood
No vest protect the shot for your mug
Snake niggas hear the move
Every chance they get
Rap niggas I'ma dead 'em on
The advance they get
Hustlin niggas, I catch y'all Uptown
Soon as papi hit you
I'm right behind you holding it down
Ya niggas, got it confused
Pop bottles and boo's
Might fit, make you come out of your jewels
A little more richer
Every sixteenth spit a little more sicker
Rap for MAZE cause that's my nigga
I spit it for the streets
My bitches and freaks
Lacking four to twenty G's
Thugging every week, stylin out
Violator I'm wildin out
MU and thugged out, them hoes talkin about
We off the yell dogg
The entire know this song
Cause me and MAZE bet
Fire, thugged out strong, motherfucker

Huh? Huh? We say what son what!?
Huh? What? yeah (stop playing motherfucker)
Yeah, yeah we say what son what!?
Huh? Huh? yeah, yeah we say what son what!?
Huh? Huh? Huh? yeah, yeah
We say what son what!? Burn unit
Burn unit my nigga Swift
On the motherfuckin four's what what?

Yeah, Capone-N-Nore baby!
Thugged Out! Shout to Martin Moore
Shout to my man Gina things is happenin baby
Sixty Minutes of Funk Volume Four (okay)
Shout to Irv Gotti (ill sound, murder)