Street Tax (feat. The Clipse)

Verse 1: (Boobonic) First of all I'm a T-H-U-G Boobonic nigga, who the fuck you be? If you don't really want this block then move over So you don't get big weight and lose it like Oprah Caught a case down South in V.A. court The game change every year like EA Sport You see now they got platinum, mad you got gold? My corner's like the Beatles nigga, get your rock and roll Niggas mad cause the Feds stay on me cause they in cars Mad cause I oversee the Projects like A&R's Try not to do hits myself, I order that While you cooked Four and a half and got a quarter back You play the tough guy role good, I ought to clap And did alot of rappin' too, I should've bought a track I had to check this comb in your rug, checkin' for soil Got popped while you was under your hood checkin' your oil Verse 2: (The Clipse) I graduated from Eight balls to blow thats cake size Match me grand for grand and lets make these stakes rise Mahavaji rich, in Egypt with eight wives While my fam rocks links and medallions thats plate size You up against The Clipse, believe theres no chance What you feel about hollows piercin' through your throat glands? See, I sweet talk the Devil, take him on a slow dance While your hardcore posse's is extras and road hands Get your Fifty deep, us rollin' in Convoys You fuckin' with grown Men and y'all is young boys Love double action, pack anything with loud noise As we kidnap your partners and use 'em as decoys Chorus - If y'all ain't got guns (I don't represent you) If you ain't got coke (I don't represent you) If you ain't got dough (I don't represent you) Fuck ya clique and that bullshit you been through (repeat) Verse 3: (Mr. Mr.) I never hold back, I cock back and twist ya I never been shot mothafucka, it's Mista I scream who's coke? who's whip is that? I want the main coke source, not just the crack I want the one who cook it up and make you push the pack You don't like that we cut at you nigga? bust back I never been the one to talk and chill shit out I shoot 'till it jam and the clip don't spit out You heard I'm 'bout to run in your house? you better get out Mista take stacks and coke and sort shit out Whoever don't like it wanna come then come And you smart mouth niggas get popped with dum-dums Verse 4: (The Clipse) Who the fuck wanna see us? Chrome double barrel heaters Mothafuckas better bow when they greet us Red green and black strapped on Gucci wife beaters With platinum paint jobs on 3.8 liters Two ways to live, cocaine or showbiz Knee deep in crime rhyme, in coke? my shoulders What you know about hidin' your bricks in Folgers? With Grandmothers and Aunts as primary holders Whassup lover? tell 'em take aim or take cover Cause we poppin' cross hand and christen your little Brother Eagle eye block strutters composed of Baby Mothers How they ???? we seen double Chorus 2x