Lord Finesse - Rules We Live By (feat. Fat Joe And Armageddon) Lyrics
f/ Armageaddon, Fat Joe* 2003 Fat Beats Records version[ Fat Joe ]WhatWhatYeahDiggin' In The CratesTerror SquadWe the best at thisEverybody stealin our style, stealin our flowsStealin our beatsFeedin off of usAll these fake rappers in the rap gameSo-called rappersWhat[ CHORUS: Armageaddon (2X) ]Yo, real niggas use what they pull out, hold up, start a shoot outBlack out, cool out, then they back outDaily routine, stompin fiends in they spleen, no shortsIll like Chinatown gangsters, extort the sea port[ VERSE 1: Armageaddon ]Aluminum-crush a coco, rockin stolen gold of AfricaIll, dressed to kill, a Navy massacreUnited Nations-sized slinky Benz, lookin like ambassadorsKing off a roundtable, Glock 9 as calibersKidnap a senator, free the Rikers IslandersTell a Sicilian he got nigga in his blood, no jiveTerror Squad possessed by the souls of dead Comanche tribesScalp em, scrape em and rape em, repossess Plymouth RockMnage trois with gogo *****es twice to split on my *****Fire spark the hydro, burn a bush without the pyroBlessed be the only saint I know exist in the BibleWhat if God was one of us, downin mo' liqor and dustA stranger sellin drugs duckin TNT bustComin through like an army of nigga rocker gorilla menTerror Squad legacy live the next millenniumIron curtain-styled tanks, gruesome shit that make mother faintThat ain't no color paint, ( ? )New York electrocute, Mississippi don't shootTie his neck to a maple, hang him, strange fruit[ CHORUS ][ VERSE 2: Lord Finesse ]I be the all eye seeing (no doubt) supreme beingNigga geein, playin celo, rollin demonsForever schemin, I make it hot like PhoenixA street genius, never thinks with his penisI be the meanest, authentic, afrocentricIn it to win it, I don't talk it, I represent itThe sky's the limit, from the beginning to the endingCan't knock the hustle especially when the next man's winninIf money makes the world go round I have it spinninChillin in linen, keepin it real, no pretendinNever-endin, mind-bendin, stay aiminI don't player-hate, I simply make others just quit playinKnow what I'm sayin, I'm out to get stacksI hit chicks with the dick that make dykes wanna switch backCan you dig that, you got game, money, loungeI pull *****es like cars (How's that?) No money down[ CHORUS ][ VERSE 3: Fat Joe ]You better slide or catch this homicideAin't no match for Joey Crack, I'm blowin backs out the other sideBrothers died and mothers cried at wakesThese are the breaks, Kurtis-Blow your head off like jakeSo take heed and read between the linesAin't no geein mines, player-haters never wanna see me shineUp in the Range or in the Lex CoupeRockin a fresh suit with dress shoes on my way to let's boozeLet's choose what life you rather liveOn the streets stabbin kids or livin mad sweet in lavish cribsFix marriages for my kids, six carats on my whizExotic talkin parrots on my wristIt ain't shit but sex, money and drugsTrue thugs bust slugs and pack bodies and bustWhat the *****, Joey Crack twist your cap backLeave your heart rate flat once Terror Squad attacks[ CHORUS ]
