Lyrics
Talk to me man
This your boy Young Hova, you turn the motherfuckin' noise up
We get right into the proceedings this evening
Headphones are distortin', bring it down a lil' bit
Okay, now we workin' with it
The boy Face up in baseline, Face (Mob)
Welcome to New York City, it's yo' boy Young Hov', yeah
Kanye West on the track, Chi-Town, what's goin' on now?
Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of your time baby, I don't want much
Lemme talk to these motherfuckers
Guess who's bizack? You still smellin' crack in my clothes
Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes
Take it back down to taxin' them roads
When I was huggin' it, niggaz couldn't do nothin' with it
Straight from the oven with it, came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me
Still with me
Pain plus work, shit she made me milk this game for all it's worth
That's right, these niggaz can't fuck with me
I'm callin' guts every time, drag my nuts every time
Homey, we make a great combination, don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, every time we face off
Face it y'all, y'all niggaz playin' basic ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall
Homey, I'm in the drop with the AC on
That's why the streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool
Guess who's bizack?
Back on the block with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and Hov'
Don't make me relapse
Back to the block with the fo'
'Cause this street shit is all I know
From the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon
Tryna make me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons
Plain clothes wanna run in my room
But nigga guess who's bizack? It's your boy Face Mob
Started with an eight ball, gotta get this cake dawg
Give niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game go
Fuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain? (Nope)
I'm out here to grind mo', wrapped up in the paper chase
I wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
Don't got no wholesale, 'cause that ain't how I wanna run it
Here take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool
Money is an issue and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warm, then I come by with the fizzle
And make for sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you ain't makin' a dime
'Cause I got shit to lose, a nigga out here payin' his dues
My baby walkin', gotta get him some shoes
It's a new game doin', lemme give you the rules
Get outta line and I'ma give you the blues
It's a new game doin', lemme give you the rules
Get outta line and I'ma give you the blues
Guess who's bizack?
The boy B Mizack, A.K.A, Mr. Crack-A-Brick
Turn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered this
You can smell it once the plastic rips
A hot plate will make you swell up if your gasket clicked
You can make your chips swell up, you don't hafta pitch
Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Youngun never pump fake and you'll get past the blitz
And keep your whole hood on flip like on box-spring
Pissy Mack and shit, low old box of things
Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of water
Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
'Til like deuce in the mornin', with the old heads
Slingin' loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted
Still fuckin' with them crack addicts
Still bustin' with that black-matic
Guess who's bizack?
Back on the block with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and Hov'
Don't make me relapse
Back to the block with the fo'
'Cause this street shit is all I know
