RZA - Brooklyn Babies Lyrics
[Tiffany]Bobby, I'm tired of yo' shit, nigga!I'm tired of you comin' in at 3 o'clock in the mornin'Nigga, you got a family hereYou act like you don't *****in' know that shitNigga, what the *****?[RZA {*overlapped by chorus*}]Yo, yo, yo, yo..Growin' up in crazy CaliYo, yo, yo..[Chorus 1 - Force MD's]Digital, these niggas should be crazyGrowin' up as a Brooklyn babyBedstuy, this is my life..[RZA]Yo, yo, yo..A Brooklyn baby, I was bron up in King's CountyInside the womb seven months before the Queen found meUp in wroughty Brownsville with fiends around meNow roam gat in Staten with Cream Team around meThey called me Bobby, cousin, really got the black HarleyTaught his son how to spike cats like Lee HarveyOswald, all's well that ends wellMy big brother Divine, he pushed the Benz wellI got the cherry Range, broke and rockin' heavy chainsI'm from the tribe of men who would bury KingsOn the back of the A-train, my daydreamShould I make a phat hit or should I take CREAM?From the Clan that taught you Cash RulesI make soul grind tracks, you grab ass tooGive respect to the Prince when he pass throughMight have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoeCousin Billy, known to strap the black uziTwo-two in front of the Jakes like Jack RubyLive on TV where you see B-O-B-B-YD-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well[Chorus 1][Chorus 2 - Force MD's]Digital, these niggas should be crazyGrowin' up as a Brooklyn babyThis is how I live my life..[Masta Killa]Yeah..Peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm XShot dice on green, we live from Calasky y'allIt's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through trafficGet the herb, get the God, peace Ra'What's the word on things?Through the phone I heard the bangin' soundsin the background, layin' downI'm spittin' what the people missin'We extreme with the murder type themeDon't sleep, get ya head split to the white meatBig guns, down South we blazeShippin' bodies back up North, it's the WestonWild Texan, no trespassin'Long mics hit the dead armPlanet Earth, home of IslamBrooklyn, I was physically born, clothes tornRough tacklin' the streets, Allah Math' spine TechnicsWe bring heat to the block party, drinkin' BacardiBaggin' shorties for the homies who ain't here[Chorus - both to fade][Tiffany {*overlapped by chorus*}]Bobby, that's right, you ain't shit, niggaYou ain't shit, but a big dick and a motha*****in' chequeAll that *****in' Brooklyn shit, Shaolin shitNigga, grow the ***** up!What the ***** is up with you, nigga?You ain't shit, niggaComin' in high off that shitWhat the *****?I'm tired of yo' shitWhat the ***** is that shit anyway?What the *****?And your cousin Billy, I'm sick of that motha*****aThat motha*****a could never come up in thismotha*****in' house ever againHe's a criminal motha*****in' gangsta, see that shit?A criminal, I'm sick of that shitI'm sick of yo' shit, Bobby {*echoes*}Brooklyn this, Shaolin thatWhat the *****, nigga?I don't know why I love your stupid ass anywayPssh.. but I do love you Bobby
