Da Manchuz - Jump lyrics

[Intro: Juice] I'mma just start, ain't got me? Jump, jump, jump, jump Jump, jump, jump... [Chorus: Juice] I'm tired of dreaming, son, gotta plan sh** right I'm tired of scheming, sh**, this n***a dancing with dykes I'm tired of fiending, sh**, can a man see life? Fights on the Deegan, speeding, is my plan cease light? [Juice] I fancy dykes, Honda's, scratchy pipes Don't affiliate with tacky types, who nasty like Happy type, the rest don't last tonight Or end up in the casket right, too many crabs in this game A n***a like me can't be nice, weed smoke got me happy right I map the game, monopolize and stack cash and game Ninety-nine motto, don't surpa** the fame A sooped up head, can make a n***a crash his range Dash dames off of octane, they clash with lanes Got 'em ashed out, dancing doing the macaren' How can a day go by, and I ain't cop no pay I'm hostile, and what I see, I gots to take I ain't scared of sh**, nowadays, beef be fake Only thing that really matter, is the figures we make You thinking the ice on my neck, makes you shiver and shake I bone like Sharon Stone, then sliver the state f** balling, coaching one the head to quinch ya taste You like the Gatorade of rap, chew, savor that Just here to blaze the map, nothing better than that [Chorus] [Juice] I'm bout to seperate the game, from the Bears to the Cubs Combine a hoppin' dime to the hoes in the clubs Those who bust guns, those who are custom Those who give fist, or get it through customs Confederated, investigated, I don't trust 'em My team is separated, with no a**ociation Move in like murks, with no negotiation Gutter n***as, don't you dare approach the basement Hummers and figures, we got numbers and n***a chasing Loving them figures, we got hundreds and n***as hating Can't take the heat, the weather, we withstand We veterans, we peddling, with no kickstand No brakes, stand back, picture me on the straight and arrow like Amtrak Trust me, if my n***as pitch, I can't catch Silver screen n***as but we can't act No photogenic, sick with the flow You better call the medic, doc sedatate that fool, thirty-eighty that fool There's no way in hell you can debate that move I'm right when I'm wrong, I'm tight with the palm I'm nice with it, might get it, iced in your arm Brooklyn, your fantasy, your chick crying on the jack At the club, leather Pele with a lion on the back How even trying when I rap, I Heisman on tracks Quarterback with the automag, no linemen in tact I got chickens in the streets, who be gunning away Ghetto chicks s**ing dick, like I cum Kool-Aid Whose to say, if I hold a four-fifth, I spray These are my golden years, don't like what I say, hold your ears I spit when I talk and speak, see more p**y than a toilet seat, who want get raw with me I'm a dog my creeps, cops, haters and crookses My name is known by local drug dealers and hookers I like cashing up, but 9 to 5's ain't fast enough And if this rap sh** don't work --- f** that I'mma start acting up, blasting up I want your j**els, your wallets and your shoes, n***a pa** it up I'm no thug, but I am a crook I got that street buzz, man, I am from Brook I can get it til ya raw, I can get it til ya cooked I can get it from the dealership, or get it cooked [Chorus 2X] [Outro: Juice] What's my plan see, til ya see me Somebody help me, it's dark, man, turn on the lights You can't see, drop everybody, everybody, everybody Just, just, just k**, just, just, just k** Here we go, everybody, everybody, just, Buddha Monk Candice, Mr. Muff, it's on, Bedstuy, jump, jump, jump Jump, jump, jump, jump, tired of dreaming, jump