Free Murda - F.R.E.E. Murda lyrics

[Intro: Free Murda] Yeah, yeah, uh-huh Fort Greene, Brooklyn, Bedstuy F.R. Double E, Murda Yeah.. Murda, check it... [Free Murda] Check it, as I, step in the club Coming to the stage like little Jay Jay All my broads is nuts, like Payday And when the song's up, they gots to pay me The God's up, if you try to play me You tighter than Von Dutch, now it's up to the AK Shorty your God, in ya lap, you can go with him Get 45 in ya Ac', like a cold Philly Money, don't get it, honeys gold digging Ain't try'nna look funny, pushing an old Civic Bummy with no kid-icks, rather rob something Then to be up early, going job hunting n***as act girly, want us be they broads f**ing Hair all curly, like the star functions Is that yours? For surely, watch her start s**ing Drunk off them Bailey's, ready to start something [Chrous: Free Murda] F.R. Double E, Murda F.R.E, Murda Yea, that's me, word up I know you hear that beat in the club That R, Double E, Murda F.R.E., Murda Yea, that's me, word up I know you hear that heat in the club [Free Murda] n***as need to cut it out, like Peter try to diesel Same n***as down town tryin' on diesel Head nodding to my beat, like he high off diesel Slobbing down freaks, that combine when they need to Tied the b**h, and put that in diesel That be ruder, little make-up, don't make you no cuter When I move, you move, like Luda Try'nna get bruised up, in the club, off my buddha So get out your way, sh**, I don't pay Feel the cushion, especially around the way No cake mix, balling and no palm Forming like Voltron, you know that's so wrong See them tattoo's on my forearm, see, ya'll gon' do what? Put ya all in white sheets like the Ku Klux Ya'll ain't even see how I grouped up With ShaCrizzy, Terra Tory, E-Money, ride with me [Chorus] [Free Murda] Soon as, I, step up out this spizzle Hand on my nickel, raise a hand and I hit you F.R.E., damn he the issue Why he gon' die from the pistol tonight? Cuz you know, n***as always try to give you a fight And nobody's Lennox Lewis My man's is shooters, ride around, shot ya Benz with Rubix Ready to clap ya friend in his medula Don't give the 411, like Grand Puba Give it right there to you, loud as a band with a tuba I'm tryin' to see, half a man in Aruba Laid back, catching sun tans by the coolers And get back rubs, but I ain't f**ing with white chicks Like the Wayan, all day with the black gloves Roll me a fat dub, of that kush While ya'll b**hes bush bush [Chorus]