Comme c'est essoufflant d'être un gangster !
Hey yo, I smoke dust and shoot cops, sold guns to 2Pac
Smoked blunts with Biggie Smalls and sold drugs on new-lots
I was too young, couldn't get up in clubs back in the old days
We used rob and terrorize kids in front of homebase
When Funkmaster Flex was inside, rockin' the whole place
We was outside, smacking kids and snatchin' gold chains
Baggin' mad pigeons, catchin' mad digits, bad bitches
And when they husbands came around we had to blast biscuits
A bunch of bad Brooklyn kids that always had pistols
Broken dreams and broken halls, we always had issues
And mad problems worshippin' gangstas and bank-robbers
Watchin' Scarface startin' fights in Rap concerts
Until we realized how to get the real money
Steal money, kidnap money, kill money
Its funny how the money make the whole world love you
Jealous cats hate you, dime bitches want you
Little ghetto children run up on you, wanna' touch you
Got the IRS lookin' at you, wanna fuck you
Sniffin' so much blow, you don't know if you can trust you
Ecstasy react to what the cocaine and the dust do
Go against the Ill Bill and Non Phixion will crush you, bust you
Leave you with a tube and ya' throat to suck through
We truck jewels, these dust brothers fuck mothers
The thugs love us, rap for the gunslingers and drug-hustlers
Where my gangstas at?
"Is you a gangsta?"
"With gangsta rap"
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