"Krush Groove" lyrics
(feat. Get Low, JT)
[JT:]
We on our third song, we on our third song, hey
You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutching
On the four-wheel, pushing quarters like niggas doing dope deals
Four cut 50 like a verse and a half
I cut the brick and now we counting the math, we 'bout that bird play
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it
Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted
Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge
We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again
We got factors out in the ditch where they're smacking a bitch
I got homies out in the Bronx where they're busting at cops
It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground
Pushing a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsing
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what you say nigga?
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker
[Nina B:]
Hey yo it seem to me like everybody got their own truth
Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths
I play the game I was born to score
But I'm a little too cute for them corner stores
A little too, known, to stand on the block
And a little too eager to sit in the spot
Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side
Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide
Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside
Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride
And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rapping
This lump of Satan I'm packing thrash 'em with a major passion
I slash ya face and fracture you flashing in the latest fashion
And have you dashing from Manhattan all the way to Aspen
Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin
Step ya game up
[Get Low Playaz:]
Listen, before I get up in the morning I ask the Lord for strength
Trying to get my niggas out the hood, you know how the forces get
It's like the devil got a hold of my neck
And I'm getting this change running 'round repping my set
Mommy used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed
Mama be out there getting some money
But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go
For them birds niggas'll cock back the calico
Now you introduced to the beef, what you're gon' do now?
Bitch up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out?
A lot of niggas is real, a lot of niggas is fake
A lot of niggas shake your hand and shake hands with Jake
Fuck what you heard, I startled your brain
I hit the spot like a [?] in ballers and jeans
On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane
It's not my fault she looked at me. You better talk to your dame
That's just, part of the game and you got served
Who got nerve 'cause Lethal hard like 2Pac words
And, why y'all Chucks always acting like tough guys
You must be tripping or you slipping on mudslides
And in the hood you see it's different from one time
What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine
And I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath
I oughta be like Makaveli and be faking my death
I keep that good shit it's tasting so fresh
And all y'all sloppy Joe niggas yo y'all making a mess
We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck
And spit in a hundred bars straight without breaking a sweat
We on our third song, we on our third song, hey
You understand it, I'm official with mine; I'm double-clutching
On the four-wheel, pushing quarters like niggas doing dope deals
Four cut 50 like a verse and a half
I cut the brick and now we counting the math, we 'bout that bird play
My crew's committed, you dudes gon' get it
Have a seat you through when I'm finished, my troopers is fitted
Got 'em posted out in Brooklyn, Hollis Queens to the Bridge
We in the studio the Figgaro done did it again
We got factors out in the ditch where they're smacking a bitch
I got homies out in the Bronx where they're busting at cops
It ain't no game with the underground, came from the underground
Pushing a hundred thousand, we out the trunk, never browsing
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, what you say nigga?
JT, another boss from the Bay
And rest in peace to my boy Mac Dre, motherfucker
[Nina B:]
Hey yo it seem to me like everybody got their own truth
Believe me I'm in them sheets like phonebooths
I play the game I was born to score
But I'm a little too cute for them corner stores
A little too, known, to stand on the block
And a little too eager to sit in the spot
Mami, I'm from the Eastside, yup yes that side
Heads fly if I open ya chest that wide
Gimme a bad vibe end up on ya backside
Or you can get your back and side splatted in back of ya ride
And I can make it happen, if I don't make it rapping
This lump of Satan I'm packing thrash 'em with a major passion
I slash ya face and fracture you flashing in the latest fashion
And have you dashing from Manhattan all the way to Aspen
Your shit is whack, heard your tape and had to take an aspirin
Step ya game up
[Get Low Playaz:]
Listen, before I get up in the morning I ask the Lord for strength
Trying to get my niggas out the hood, you know how the forces get
It's like the devil got a hold of my neck
And I'm getting this change running 'round repping my set
Mommy used to look at me funny; she could tell her baby boy changed
Mama be out there getting some money
But it's a price for everything, you know how the game go
For them birds niggas'll cock back the calico
Now you introduced to the beef, what you're gon' do now?
Bitch up, skid in your crib, or pull them tools out?
A lot of niggas is real, a lot of niggas is fake
A lot of niggas shake your hand and shake hands with Jake
Fuck what you heard, I startled your brain
I hit the spot like a [?] in ballers and jeans
On some eighty-eight shit, more "Raw" than Kane
It's not my fault she looked at me. You better talk to your dame
That's just, part of the game and you got served
Who got nerve 'cause Lethal hard like 2Pac words
And, why y'all Chucks always acting like tough guys
You must be tripping or you slipping on mudslides
And in the hood you see it's different from one time
What's your bloodline, play the strip to the sunshine
And I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath
I oughta be like Makaveli and be faking my death
I keep that good shit it's tasting so fresh
And all y'all sloppy Joe niggas yo y'all making a mess
We on the way to yo' nap, so put your tapes in the deck
And spit in a hundred bars straight without breaking a sweat
Writer(s): Jayceon Taylor, Joseph Tom
