Gangsta Rap

Hey yo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to 2Pac Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on new-lots I was too young, couldn't get up in clubs back in the old days We used rob and terrorize kids in front of homebase When Funkmaster Flex was inside, rockin' the whole place We was outside, smacking kids and snatchin' gold chains Baggin' mad pigeons, catchin' mad digits, bad bitches And when they husbands came around we had to blast biscuits A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols Broken dreams and broken halls, we always had issues And mad problems worshippin' gangstas and bank-robbers Watchin' Scarface startin' fights in Rap concerts Until we realized how to get the real money Steal money, kidnap money, kill money Its funny how the money make the whole world love you Jealous cats hate you, dime bitches want you Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna' touch you Got the IRS lookin' at you, wanna fuck you Sniffin' so much blow, you don't know if you can trust you Ecstasy react to what the cocaine and the dust do Go against the Ill Bill and Non Phixion will crush you, bust you Leave you with a tube and ya' throat to suck through We truck jewels, these dust brothers fuck mothers The thugs love us, rap for the gunslingers and drug-hustlers Where my gangstas at? [Cuts] "Is you a gangsta?" "With gangsta rap"