Rza - Spit That G lyrics

[Cappadonna] Uh-huh, ye-yeah, it's like this If you got big dollars, Spit That G KnowwhatImean? If you got mad honies, Spit That G If you gettin dough or whatever Whips, phats cars, new kicks, Spit That G This is how we do it Word up, it's like this, check it out Check it out, yo [Chorus: Cappadonna (all)] If you got ladies (Spit That G) If you got endo (Spit That G) If you got currency (Spit That G) W.T.C. (Spit That G) Say Spit That G (Spit That G) Say Spit That G (Spit That G) More s** and money make the world go round Dumb Diddy snatch ya chick up, hit the floor now [Solomon Childs] Want money? I need bodyguards, as big as stiff worker, R.C Me mega-poverty, New York City, dollar signs prevail Five place love, exclusive, nine millimeters My voice box run through tracks like wild cheetahs Champagne and catfish at the club, Geda's Janet Jackson figures, I'm on now Gucci sweaters for all of my n***as Calm braided, chrome rims Ghetto birds with pink Timb's A box of shells for the Cola for Kim's Sponsored by the Clan, see Pop more vanilla cherry than Luke Perry Now tell me this ain't the thug life [Hook 2X: Suga Bang Bang] Talkin bout the good life Livin in da ghetto, wild [12 O'Clock] What happened to the fist fights, the MC battles, n***a? Slingin newspapers on the Verrazano Narrow Gettin off the fifth train on Carol to get wet Summertime sweat got me rockin short sets From the loaf tops, no socks, Hawaiian suits Tied nicely with the wooden spoon for the scoop Young girls playin double Dutch and hoola-hoops Cap'n Crunch and Fruit Loops, camels and goose boots It was the FUBU, the stripped Lee's, the Hoopty's Five dollar bag of weed's a real bag of weed A ki was at twenty g's, hurled one at dope fiends O.D., n***as throwin bricks at my click Now Giulianni got the state N.Y. locked like cuff Black Bad Boys gettin rich like Puff The Excursion truck need two spots on the parkin lot A stash box for the top, the lock [Prodical] Brook-nam, grace and charm, remain calm with chron's of Lebanon Black man author, green Leprechaun from Lexington P. Sunn, I crack ya face with the gun Smack the taste outta ya dunn, ya fam's on the run Now y'all respect Sunn, shine all type direction Hype discretion with the right connection, recitin lessons But my wea-pon reign automatic projection Blow out ya reception, hose through ya reflection Old gold complexion, Sunn I'll swoll to perfection Did a fifteen, me and my team, supreme legends Twenty-one-two, I get that money with the Wu Up in the Cayman Islands, b**hes sweeter than honey dew [Hook 4X] [Interlude: Prodical (Timbo King)] Eh-yo, let's talk about it (Let's talk about it) Eh-yo, we be about it, be about it Yo, we be about it (k**a Beez) We all about it, yo we all about it We all about it, we be about it k**a Beez, yo we all about it [Timbo King] Yo I slap money for the love of rap money Rock gully, high cop that bag of bomb This grown man talk, I could bag ya mom Watch and learn, block got lots of germ Straight like that, bake cake, ate like that Love to k**, I just hate like that Yo these guns yap bodies on it, ain't nobody want it Wide body six-hundred, brand new papers on it Front roast up, corner thugs roast up Mix the black with green, watch me mack the scene As a matter of fact, them caps gon' bang Brook-lawn pack those things, crack/c**aine [Chorus] [Hook 2X]