RZA, Force MD’s, Tiffany, Masta Killa - Brooklyn Babies lyrics
[RZA, Force MD’s, Tiffany, Masta Killa - Brooklyn Babies lyrics]
Bobby, I'm tired of yo' shit, nigga!
I'm tired of you comin' in at
3 o'clock in the fuckin' mornin'
Nigga, you got a fuckin' family here
You act like you don't fuckin' know that shit
Nigga, what the fuck?
Born up in Kings County
Digital, these niggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
This how, this is my life
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, YO
A Brooklyn baby
I was born up in King's County
Inside the womb seven months before
The Queen found me
Up in wroughty Brownsville with
Fiends around me now roam gat in Staten with
Cream Team around me they called me Bobby
Cousin Billy got the black Harley
Taught his son how to snipe
Cats like Lee Harvey
Oswald, all's well that ends well
My big brother Divine
He pushed the Benz well
I got the cherry Range
Known for rockin' heavy chains
I'm from the tribe of men
Who would bury Kings
On the back of the A train, my daydream
Should I make a phat hit
Or should I take CREAM?
From the Clan that taught you cats Cash Rules
I make slow grind tracks, you grab ass too
Give respect to the Prince
When he pass through
Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe
Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi
Shoot you in front of the
Jakes like Jack Ruby
Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y
D-IG-I T-A-L (A-L) , things ain't too well
Digital, these niggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
This is how I live my life
Yeah peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X
Shot dice on green
We live from Pulaski y'all
It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic
Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra'
What's the word on things?
Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds
In the background, layin' down
I'm spittin' what the people missin'
We extreme with the murder type theme
Don't sleep
Get ya head split to the white meat
Big guns, down South we blaze
Shippin' bodies back up North
It's the Weston wild Texan, no trespassin'
Long mics hit the dead arm
Planet Earth, home of Islam
Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn
Rough tacklin' the streets
Allah Math' spin techniques
We bring heat to the block party
Drinkin' Bacardi
Baggin' shorties for the homies
Who ain't here
Bobby, that's right, you ain't shit, nigga
You ain't shit
But a big dick and a mothafuckin' cheque
All that fuckin' Brooklyn shit, Shaolin shit
Nigga, grow the fuck up!
What the fuck is up with you, nigga?
You ain't shit, nigga
Comin' in high off that shit what the fuck?
I'm tired of yo' shit
What the fuck is that shit anyway?
What the fuck? And your cousin Billy
I'm sick of that mothafucka
That mothafucka could never come up in this
Mothafuckin' house ever again
He's a criminal mothafuckin' gangsta
See that shit?
A criminal, I'm sick of that shit
I'm sick of yo' shit, Bobby echoes
Brooklyn this, Shaolin that
What the fuck, nigga?
I don't know why I love
Your stupid ass anyway
Pssh but I do love you Bobby
I'm tired of you comin' in at
3 o'clock in the fuckin' mornin'
Nigga, you got a fuckin' family here
You act like you don't fuckin' know that shit
Nigga, what the fuck?
Born up in Kings County
Digital, these niggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
This how, this is my life
Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo yo, yo, yo, yo, YO
A Brooklyn baby
I was born up in King's County
Inside the womb seven months before
The Queen found me
Up in wroughty Brownsville with
Fiends around me now roam gat in Staten with
Cream Team around me they called me Bobby
Cousin Billy got the black Harley
Taught his son how to snipe
Cats like Lee Harvey
Oswald, all's well that ends well
My big brother Divine
He pushed the Benz well
I got the cherry Range
Known for rockin' heavy chains
I'm from the tribe of men
Who would bury Kings
On the back of the A train, my daydream
Should I make a phat hit
Or should I take CREAM?
From the Clan that taught you cats Cash Rules
I make slow grind tracks, you grab ass too
Give respect to the Prince
When he pass through
Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe
Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi
Shoot you in front of the
Jakes like Jack Ruby
Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y
D-IG-I T-A-L (A-L) , things ain't too well
Digital, these niggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
This is how I live my life
Yeah peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X
Shot dice on green
We live from Pulaski y'all
It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic
Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra'
What's the word on things?
Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds
In the background, layin' down
I'm spittin' what the people missin'
We extreme with the murder type theme
Don't sleep
Get ya head split to the white meat
Big guns, down South we blaze
Shippin' bodies back up North
It's the Weston wild Texan, no trespassin'
Long mics hit the dead arm
Planet Earth, home of Islam
Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn
Rough tacklin' the streets
Allah Math' spin techniques
We bring heat to the block party
Drinkin' Bacardi
Baggin' shorties for the homies
Who ain't here
Bobby, that's right, you ain't shit, nigga
You ain't shit
But a big dick and a mothafuckin' cheque
All that fuckin' Brooklyn shit, Shaolin shit
Nigga, grow the fuck up!
What the fuck is up with you, nigga?
You ain't shit, nigga
Comin' in high off that shit what the fuck?
I'm tired of yo' shit
What the fuck is that shit anyway?
What the fuck? And your cousin Billy
I'm sick of that mothafucka
That mothafucka could never come up in this
Mothafuckin' house ever again
He's a criminal mothafuckin' gangsta
See that shit?
A criminal, I'm sick of that shit
I'm sick of yo' shit, Bobby echoes
Brooklyn this, Shaolin that
What the fuck, nigga?
I don't know why I love
Your stupid ass anyway
Pssh but I do love you Bobby