U DON'T KNOW〈REMIX〉 feat. M.O.P.

Time to duck, fire Duck, fire, duck, fire Duck, fire, duck, FIYAAAAAAAHHH! (U Dont know what you're doing, doing, doing, doing) It's the MOP (Yes) 1, 1, 2, 3, 3 And motherfucker we comin, 100 miles and gunnin I'm still runnin with cash that's robbed From the era of exhale 80's and hats back stomp (SAME GAME!) operation for this industry lockdown We still tote hammeres that go BLOCKOWWWW Run up if you wanna, believe me dog These hammers with they owners, fuck ya G up Have ya with blue 'jamas in a coma, and Ya family now moan, look, 70 pounds gone A little fuck, scribbled up with a hospital down on (WE HOLDIN IT DOWN HOLMES!) keep pushin weak frail bastards To get over, we prowl with slimmer re-shelled tactics Jiminy frail bastards, your tracks need tune-ups No limit, what the fuck, recordin for nig' junior (The game aint changed) it just got harder Plus we sponsored by laz' Dame Dash and Mr. S. Carter Brownsville (yap), we stomp in this bitch all day Rock with my cock out, face the crowd and piss off stage Uh, Uh, Uh, I'm from the G side of thangs Where we ride and bang, where the heat died of flame That's how we got the name (WARRIORS!) And better than ya bank, and someone should be tellin 'em The veterans have came, and we're better in the game (YOU BETTER MAKE IT RAIN!)“27 grams”my man It's better than cocaine, now everything will change In this family we'll rule the world And you haters can eat a dick up till you hiccup and erm A decade on the grind, nigga I paid mine So it's my time to shine and for you can ride the pine I wont sit back and rap like these dumb ass kids I been around, I put it down, I aint these young ass kids (MOP!) The OG's repped and survived around this mothefucka (FIRST FAMILY!) We kept it live around this mothefucka When it's crunch time, we do it our wizzay For shizzle my nigga, learn to grip pistols and BK WHOOOOOOO!!!!!! Turn my music high, high, high, high-er Mo' fire, mo' problems, more Roc-a-wear attire Mo' money, mo' murder now that M.O.P.'s hired Mo' murder for the ROC empire, ya'll wont surface Ya'll nervous knowin them guns on full service, ready to fire One body, two body, three body, four Young sittin on paper, I'm above the law Young shittin on haters, I aint fuckin with ya'll For my Brownsville neighbors, How About Some Hardcore? And it just get worser, every time I write my signature in cursive Just add another million to these verses One million, two million, three million, four And the money's really worthless, I'm pissing you off on purpose My nephew's situated, and my mama's straight So I'm ready for whatever drama should come our way And you fuckers rappin to me, so your drama is fake Ya'll niggas is noodles, I got more fetti to bake Let's get it!