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    Busta Rhymes / Lyrics

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    "What Up" Lyrics

    Busta Rhymes

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    [scratched: "It's the new!!"]

    Yeah! Yeah, Busta Bust down, Flipmode now
    I know what y'all feel like doin
    Go 'head and crash your whip in the fuckin wall
    It's cool, niggaz.. we gets busy

    [Verse One]
    Fo' sho', spit rogue, get mo' bout to kick in the door
    Dick sore, split whores 'til they shit on the floor
    Clique more sick from when you use to see us before
    Shit, kill a nigga quick, niggaz know my rapport
    Keep workers on the strip that be ready for war
    Brick I flip a little quicker if they shit in the store
    Rip, maybe 'til they drop, and they shit in they drawers
    Shit crazy when I pop, and I'm grippin the four
    Thick bitches in the spot, watch 'em strip for the sport
    Spit vicious for the block, yeah we swingin a torch
    Stick niggaz for they shit, thank 'em for they support
    Quick nigga, better quit'snitchin down at the court
    Check track a little slick and try to go on my Forbes
    Cause we stackin like we rich, and we holdin the fort
    This time, we had to bring it, guess what we brought
    The hottest shit to bang from L.A. to the streets of New York

    All my people, get drunk, get high - WHATTUP?
    Get money, get rich, get fly - WHATTUP?
    Get stupid, get busy, get live - WHATTUP?
    Jump all in your whip, turn the key and drive - WHATTUP?
    Make a mill' yeah we gon' make about five - WHATTUP?
    We speak the truth and we ain't talkin no jive - WHATTUP?
    I'm speakin to the streets and everybody's widdit - WHATTUP?
    Once again you know we only come to get it - WHATTUP?

    [Verse Two]
    AOWWWWWWW!! Ha, I stay wicked now I'm back on the strip
    Like I went on a vacation and I'm back from my trip
    Nuff radio rotation like I'm sailin a ship
    Or when the team circle the block, busy trailin my clique
    Truck packed fulla niggaz with the strap and the whip
    Get the gat out of the stash, put it back on my hip
    Gat butt you in the face, split and fatten your lip
    Blood hit the floor louder than the clap when it drip
    I credit your name with bullets, read the back of the script
    My victim's initials engraved on the back of the clip
    Chicks love the way we roll, how the movement is thick
    So official like my name's on the back of your bitch
    Pay triple for the name on the back of the stitch
    Name like the whole city now I'm changin the pitch
    Kick back kinda crazy when I'm holdin the fifth
    Think you nicer than the God, shit is only a myth
    Grab ahold of the masses, I was born with a gift
    Niggaz be runnin they trap, throw 'em over the cliff
    Thinkin and drinkin the Guinness, busy holdin the spliff
    Flippin and shittin on niggaz 'til we old and we stiff
    I don't even drive whips, throw the shit on the lift
    12 hours, one worker do the whole of the shift
    I do the thing to make you open your mouth
    And give you shit to bang the Midwest and the rest of the South

    This song was last modified on November 24th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group.
    Written by Carlton Douglas Ridenhour, Keith M. Boxley, James Todd Smith, Samuel J. Barnes, Jean Claude Olivier, Alexander Mosley, Travis L. Barker, Tom Morello, Zach Sciacca.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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