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| Jim Jones Hustler's P.O.M.E. Emotionless (feat. Juelz Santana) Lemme two-twelve wit' you for second True story [Jim Jones:] Cold sweats (sweaty sheets) From bad dreams (nightmares) I hope the Feds don't grab the team Cause we been labeled as the trouble makers (DipSet) We sell whole pies so you ain't got to cut the cake up Tell no lies, so the Lord come and take us (solemnly swear) Praise to Allah, hope the Lord He forsake us (pray for me) And outlaws is what it made us We live the fast life, and so we ball out major (ballin') Until I see a ribbon in the sky Cop plush cars put ribbons on the ride (full speed ahead) Due to my political ties I can't roll around without the drip in the ride (East Side) And if my gun boys ain't hear of ya You're lightweight I get the young boys to murder ya You're looking at a cracker's worst nightmare Young, black, rich and with a fresh pair Nikes Boy you talk about my life here Fuck wit OGs that put dice in the mirror And they tell me that life's but a gamble The media will turn your whole life into a scandal [Chorus:] Put my emotions aside (why?) Cause they can never take my alive (no) I'm a ride (I'm a ride) And don't cry (don't cry) Cause Momma raised her up a thug (I'm a thug) And if I'm standing in front of the judge Guess what? He can never take me alive (no) I'm a ride (I'm a ride) And don't cry (don't cry) Cause Momma raised hell of a thug (I'm a thug) And if I'm standing in front of the judge.. [Juelz Santana:] Poured off Bentley Looking like steroids Jetson car, I'm looking like Elroy Maserati lookin' like a shark on land Neiman Marcus edition, contraband Neiman Marcus I'm in it, shopping and Five thousand spent on pants, man (man) Bitches love it, niggas want it So bad they wanna take it, but I kill 'em for it (huh) Believe me, I'm like a bear that ain't get his porridge You better stay out the forest, warning It's Santana he fucks, Money man, make you do a handstand for the bucks I see you clear, my antennas is up And that hand-scale is still in my pocket What you want? (What you want?) Dough boys in the trap, where ya at? (where ya at?) Coke dealer's in the hood, what's good? (what's good?) Boy getting them bricks with the stamps on the shit Well come meet the man that's stamping them bricks (us) Fly wit' the Byrds, or lie wit' the dirt Your corpse, flies will emerge [Chorus] [Jim Jones:] They say your enemies is close, your friends even closer Listening to 'Pac up ten in the roaster (speeding) Now, do you wanna ride or die? Blowin' smoke in the air, getting high as the sky (that purple) I'm drunk staring B I need therapy The paranoia got me thinking conspiracy Paper on the brain, the brain on the yayo I make it off the plane I'm a land to a payroll My right hand to God, put my right hand in the jar (that mixture) And it all come back, like grams of the hard You heard of us, the murders, the most shady (DipSet) Been on the low lately, the Feds hate me (Jones) They try to put cuffs on me and my assailants When I push fees through the streets, they be tailing (speeding) They try to catch me out of bounds They know I got pistols if you catch me outta town (loaded) A thug changes, and love changes And since 9/11, the price of the drugs changes [Chorus] |
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