Nine - Whutcha Want? Lyrics
Verse one:I gets banned if i do gets banned if i don'tSo sometimes i will and sometimes i won'tPuff mad stick crack a forty down the backSit fat and relax and plan my attackNot the one to test i posess mad finesseMy buddha was blessed one bird in the nestChills with my peeps steady bouncing in jeepsOn the new york streets hittin urban concreteI'm the man untestable, with the extraterrestrial flowFo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the forty ounce bottleI'm not the one to follow, i'm not the role modelHollow tips in my clips money grip and my glockOnly spits when i react to the bullshitSo give me room to breathe and get up off deezAnd save the confessions for jeesuzPlus i don't need to hear no sorrowEff it, the sun will still come out tomorrowLong as i'm breathing, needing, even like stevenAchieving, gettin some cheese andRepresentin lovely, boogie down bronx majorWith the project flavor, i made ya, daze yaMy behavior is mad ill if you frontYou know what i want!Chorus:(whutcha want nine?) fat beats for my rides(so whutcha want nine?) mad clips for my nines(so whutcha want nine?) a ill posseAnd my name up in lights, n-i-n-eVerse two:I'ma let you know how i feel on the realI pack steel it's like a jungle makes me wonder where my eel isHits the bricks skips the dog shit complete in my cipherTemper like rowdy rowdy piper, hyper like a viperI'ma strike if i got it goin for the jugularStretch you like a copperStoppah, stoppah, but you can't stop meJust clock me, just watch me blow up the spot gCame a long way from, back in the dayWe did it for no pay, just rhymin hit the hay andSleep, wake up, write another rhymeHit the park after dark drop the beat one timeThat's when shit was real, no phonies no baloneyJust the homemade mics and wheels of steelBackup from the roof, amp plugged in the street lightEverything right, jam over a street fightBack to the lab i grab my pen and padRaw lyrics make a fleuredoscadHad no dinero, enough get fo' chicken wings and riceA forty ounce a nickel bag to get niceAnd now i might make a million, and still sonIt makes the heart pump, you know what i wantChorusVerse three:Be like elmer j. fudd with the mansion and the yachtBrand new glock non-stop hip-hopRemote control boombox lampin on my dresserThe god ain't no lesser as the pressure comes to test yaHundred pound weight around the neck, dailyNuff treasons nuff reasons like philip baileyCan't get enough of that funky stuffRhymin astronomical, original, shit is phenomenalHeat up the ghetto put the pedal to the metalSpeed like racer treat you like a wack rhyme and erase yaRight off the pape i roll a big fat spliffFour-fifth on the hip, heineken in the grip shit i'm readyGet the keys for the jeep, let's bounceCruise avenues, get some brews and sing the blues with theFunkmaster flex cassette in the deckI'm in effect i move my neck while son gets wreckOh what a feeling, i'm on the wheels of steel andI snatch up some skins for some sexual healingErything's kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop moves meSoothes me, i'm letting off like an uziBut first steps a doozy and bruise meNow i'm choosy before i start to freak it like a floozyI wanna get big get paid true stuntYou know what i want!Chorus
