Birdman - Grindin (Remix) lyrics

[Hook: Clipse] What's the size of them rims on that car n***a?! Can they see that chain from afar n***a?! (Grindin!) whatcha game be like? (Grindin!) whatcha chain be like? (Grindin!) so whatcha name be like? Ma, it don't get more ghetto than this [Verse 1: Noreaga] See I'm grimey-minded, you've been blinded Lookin for a beat like mine you can't find it You hear the Clipse and N.O.R.E. gotta rewind it (*BEEP BEEP*) Nowadays you get on that run and get finded You know I got guns, why you actin like my daughters? You know I got sons Nah, we won't speak fam, aiming atchya collar bone Hitchya in ya cheek fam [Verse 2: Pusha T] From ghetto to ghetto to backyard to yard I sell it whip on whip, it's off the hard Stand on that table, n***a, spit that Cris, n***a Throw that chair, make em recognize this: raw Playa looka here, I'm great in the kitchen like Corning cookware Uncle Jemima, with my braids wrapped And 3-minute recipes for cookin flapjacks Coke priced through the roof, SL flew the coop My niece askin how my rims bigger than a hoola-hoop Cuzzo, I make the block holla, take it back to childhood How the scale teeter-totter, as I evolve Weight grew heavy, it was kinda like my buddy just fell off the see-saw Bricks in the muffler, Mack-11 touch ya Virgina's hustler, I'm here motherf**er [Hook: Clipse & Birdman] What's the size of them rims on that car n***a?! Can they see that chain from a far n***a?! (Grindin!) whatcha game be like? (MONEY!) (Grindin!) whatcha chain be like? (MONEY!!) (Grindin!) so whatcha name be like? (STUNNA) Ma, it don't get more ghetto than this [Verse 3: Birdman] Big Tymin in a bubble-eye Lex, so fly (so fly! so fly!) I cook/cut crack, that's the sizing Them big, big rims on tires, and, we shinin Me and Weezy (holla holla) gold rims can't see me (holla holla) New Benz on tweezies (holla holla) Cadillac truck beamin, fo sheezy [Verse 4: Lil Wayne] From hood to hood, b**h n***a, yard to yard Hey I'm your "herr-o" cause I've got that h**n and that raw Check the rims on my car Naw, don't check em, though, cause they stuffed with blow Weezy Baby, still in the kitchen Just put a little curve on the sh** I'm pitchin You need a hit, I'm Mark McGwire, come holla I watch the base at home, I'm umpire [Verse 5: Clipse] Grin-ding, you know what I keep in the lining n***as better stay in line when They see a n***a like me shinin Grin-ding, you know what I keep in the lining n***as better stay in line when When you see a n***a like me shinin (Grinding!) [Verse 6: Malice] Took 13 South, cross the Bay Bridge with it Ring the triangle, dinner bell, come and get it! The time in the kitchen, I dare not mention When my cell phone echo, I swear they listening '89 was my beginning, y'all Young snot-nosed, pack yams in a tennis ball Cops swore we was playing catch, no! We was adding stretch, no choice, beg till you outta breath I ducked the Feds, they seen my weight grow Streets love Malice for his comeback ratio If they got popped, we made sure they made bail Cause if not, we be scared they gon tell Pattycake, that's me, bake the pies Pyrex, mixed that, scrape the sides Grindin, Glock-9 in the lining May God strike a n***a dead if he lying