[Intro: Lounge Lo]
Aiyo, Stizzy what up boy?
You see me? Yeah man
We gonna score on this one, partner (fo'sho)
Niggas know what time it is (they know what time it is)
It's Staten Island, huh? We gonna holl at them
For sure, homey, F.U., I see you, miraculous, flood them
[Lounge Lo]
Aiyo I, jump in the wing with any of you rappers
I'm from the hood so if I lose, then I'm fiending to clap ya
Got my weight up like I'm building a ladder, my children is glader
And just cuz I stack the mil' or feeling the chapter
You scratch-off-money thugs, they walk around
Like they got shit in the smash, when I see 'em, it's like honey love
Lounge get down and move around with a hundred thugs
Hunting bodies down, only time I waste a hundred slugs
Peace to son, and son he'll cut your mug
Niggas up north in Sullivan, yo, it's nuff love
And Big Un in the Haven, niggas running in
Kid coming home, the return of Wes Craven
[Chorus: Lyph Stizzy]
Aiyo, we moving Lounge, mostra nostra
We hit the head, nigga, then we hit whoevers closer
Our youngings taught to move with a toaster
And cook all beef, to never have to look over ya shoulder
[Lounge Lo]
And what you know about taking the boat, to raking the cokes
See Danny at the storm, put the weight in the coat
Now hit the block with the yae and the dope, the eight and the scope
Hit the shorty that was wilding out, way from the slopes
He got an attitude that's bigger than mama
Lounger Lo'll put the, clip in the llama, then I finish the drama
My boy Stizzy still stickin' his mama, what you think
Ya'll niggas keep fronting, I'mma give ya the armor
[Lyph Stizzy]
Summertime on the Stat, core enough, it's nuff overtime
The d's ran up on your boy, I had to toss the nine
But still got the hammer back, thanks to the homey Slime
True story, nina almost cost me
I refuse to, let the man take her off me
Before that, I leave what's under his hat saucy
Fly to a country, where they specialize in coke and coffee
They gon' have to send the SEALS to come off me
[Chorus]
[Lyph Stizzy]
Lyph Stizzy for shizzy, don't fuck with his feddy fam
Look, pick that semi and, clap it at any man
Same goes for the man, I don't give a god damn
Tired, put these books on my ass, back to them goon things
At times I feel like the DEA's closing in
Could be paranoia, just my gut, it's just kicking in
I'm too hard headed, shit, I ain't giving in
Scared money don't make money, let's get this money fam
My sons here now, you know I need that cash by
Fuck with my bread, I open ya head like a stash box
The reverend be closing your casket like a laptop
I'mma be a problem on the block the day my jack stops
I know they wanna see, who I be, so they can test me
Catch me in their hood with no heats, so they scretch me
But got respect the fact, that I pack and I stay ready
And I don't give a fuck if they brolic and fall heavy
[Chorus]