[May] divas and thugs, keep it goin like [boom, boom, boom] [Rob] Lady May and Rob Jackson, Arista-Crattin' [Rob] bout to blow like [boom, boom, boom] [Rob
doubt that! I put the barrel in tha .5th in ya mouth, Jack! {50 Cent! } [gunshot] [Tony Yayo:] Ayo! - Four door Porsh' comin' out in 2-0-9 Thanks to Curits Jackson
take that) Venice took the loot, escaped, in the Coupe Break bread, with the 'Kiss, Peniro, Sheek Louch Black Rob joined the Mob, it ain't no replacin him (Black Rob
wishin we would go away So they can flood the game with that garbage I'm poppin 'em, stoppin 'em, any day they wanna get with Kray Kray "Take Action" Jackson
Thats why I did this C and K collabo Im about take it to the old skool Girl my body's callin you Ain't nothin on this planet Rob won't do for you
and the roadie got a long way to go Willie and Ronnie Anytime they wanted they would pull another job Anywhere they found a place And it was fat enough to rob
still up in this bitch Niggas from down South we so gap, wid this gangsta shit Nigga best believe it's about that cheesin' and I'll rob you trick Grippin
She dances in the sheets at night She dances to his needs She dances 'til he feels just right Until he falls asleep She dances at the crack of dawn And
flows so I can pimp a few hoes Excellence is my presence, never tense Never hesitant, leave a nigga bent real quick Real sick, brawl nights, I perform like Mike Anyone Tyson, Jordan, Jackson
they can flood the game with that garbage I'm poppin' 'em, stoppin 'em, any day they wanna get with Kray Kray, take action, Jackson Everytime that I
Sittin on a bus full of old motherfuckers Wavin they bibles singin, "I love Jesus!" And now my concious is fuckin with me cause I'm about to rob the entire
a nigga home looking frail in a drop With a bitch shotgun that's inhaling the cock I got rocks on my neck the size of bottle tops And got Glocks intellectual rob
you hear it Even Helen Keller word up can hear it From the rustler lyrical hustler The fat lady sand I crusher her, word up the Chubbster Yabadabadoo Verse Three: Rob Swinga Rob
waitin Duct tapin, your fam destiny lays in my hands, gat lays in my waist Francis, M to the iz-H phenominal Gun rest under your vest by the abdominal Rob
regular thug - sold drugs Wasn't proud about it, but this is what I gotta do I copped the Jordan's, and the Fi-la's, too Yo, I loved the Bo Jackson's,
momma We gives absolutely no fucks, motha fucka Natural born serial murderers Mass mothafuckin' murderin' murderers Bitch, come and meet your maker I'm scary like Michael Jackson
me in the corner after club Like "nigga what?", They t'ow up the dub So you can tell Samuel L. I'ma keep ac'in You can even tell that motherfucker Jessie Jackson