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    Funkmaster Flex / Lyrics

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    "What Son What" Lyrics

    Funkmaster Flex feat. Capone-N-Noreaga

    [Noreaga - talking]
    Lets keep it grimy! (get with that shit)
    What y'all niggaz get man?
    What y'all gets murder unit (murder unit)
    or burn unit (burn unit)
    Get a real fuckin life unit (real life fuckin unit)
    A real unit; a motherfuckin, CNN shit (CNN!)
    My nigga Swift on the motherfuckin fours (fours)
    We thugged out y'all (what!)
    Yo, yo.. we thugged out y'all!
    [Chorus: Capone-N-Noreaga]
    [N] I say I don't really give a fuck

    [C] Why do don't really give the fuck?
    [N] Cause I don't really give a fuck
    [C] So we don't really give the fuck
    [N] You gon' roll with me?
    [C] Hell yeah
    [N] What son what!? You gon' roll with me?
    [C] Hell yeah
    [N] What son what!? You gon' roll with me?
    [C] Hell yeah
    [N] What son what!? You gon' ride with me?
    [C] Hell yeah
    [N] What son what!? You gon' die with me?
    [C] Hell yeah
    [N] What son what!?
    Right every bill I stack another war, story and track
    Settle down for money; hungry cats peddle the crack
    Some strive to be the man but never make it that's the granted further

    What part you playin the game, who gonna slash worker
    Some'll pray to Jesus, I pray to Jes to free us
    Don't look for bail Rufus bail Criminal Court
    When a judge holla Father you sure?
    Cats never sent a nigga to jail, they send him bail
    I been as real as I stealin free lunch
    I got the greats from this old man give me hearse and,
    I made a move from a plan scauwered new land (fuck a blue van)
    My shoes bang, ficticious niggaz, walk in the path that I lead (I lead)
    Do crime in New York, money and murder
    Gentleman talk, ball like Atlanta Hawk
    No respect, this on the stacks of the court
    I started off in the street thing, triple it's on
    Ya niggaz livin a lie, spittin the same
    Its no room, no BI for y'all in the game
    See me I, stay where it pop

    Off the chain like my diss and it rocks
    Movin the same is the strippin the spot
    I'm hot, rock glizzery from the bottom to top
    Grizzy, don't let it pop, didn't he spy on these hoes
    To piss off the killer in me
    Me and six will slick through it (through it)
    Bronx river to the con do it
    I see Don P calm as me, like spazin dead on your cheek
    Like green to my eye, shit, write it down sincere
    Get to say my name in the air
    Niggaz pipe down, put they mic down
    Niggaz scared that we ain't even drop yet
    Yet this year we show ya all who the hottest (hottest)
    The projects, I rep to my death (rep it nigga!)
    X'd out hoes, we regulate (X'd out hoes!)
    We ain't sharin or fillin 'boes; see how we go?
    [Chorus] - with Noreaga adlibs
    Keep the Mac under the seat
    To fast niggaz ready to creep
    And my niggaz stayin with heat
    Like the hook go - what son what!?
    Like the shit go - what son what!?
    See me in the hood though
    With a hood though, with a little puppet
    And we doing no good though
    Pussy sub, pussy sub, through the club
    Niggaz don't need no math
    I rather, get head, I don't need no ass
    Fuck all of y'all, y'all don't really rep for me
    I mean you, and you ain't the set for me
    I'm in different vicinities, gettin high with your enemies
    So niggaz better stop playin
    Before I get the M-One and just start sprayin
    Keep your block on lock, so now you go
    Nigga, I sell bricks like my name Alpo
    It's no rumor what you hear about us in clubs
    Or freight some young Blood
    No vest protect the shot for your mug
    Snake niggaz hear the move, every chance they get
    Rap niggaz I'ma dead 'em on the advance they get
    Hustlin niggaz, I catch y'all Uptown
    Soon as papi hit you, I'm right behind you holding it down
    Ya niggaz, got it confused
    Pop bottles and boo's
    Might fit, make you come out of your jewels
    A little more richer
    Every sixteenth spit a little more sicker
    Rap for M.A.Z.E. cause that's my nigga
    I spit it for the streets
    My bitches and freaks, lacking four to twenty G's
    Thugging every week, stylin out, Violator I'm wildin out
    MU and thugged out, them hoes talkin about
    We off the yell dogg, the entire know this song
    Cause me and M.A.Z.E. bet fire, thugged out strong, motherfucker
    Huh? Huh? We say what son what!?
    Huh? What? Yeah (stop playing.. motherfucker)
    Yeah, yeah; we say what son what!?
    Huh? Huh? Yeah, yeah; we say what son what!?
    Huh? Huh? Huh? Yeah yeah, we say what son what!?
    Burn unit, burn unit; my nigga Swift on the motherfuckin four's
    What what?
    {*Noreaga continues to adlib in background*}
    [Funkmaster Flex - over end of Noreaga]
    Yeah, Capone-N-Nore baby!
    Thugged Out! Shout to Martin Moore
    Shout to my man Gina
    Things is happenin baby
    Sixty Minutes of Funk Volume Four (okay)
    Shout to Irv Gotti (ill sound, murder)
    This song was submitted on January 24th, 2010 and last modified on October 18th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Royalty Network Music Publishing Ltd..
    Written by Chris Kellam, James Heard, Kiam Holley, Michael Allan, Musa Abdullah, Victor Santiago.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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