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    The Diplomats / Lyrics

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    "I Really Mean It" Lyrics

    The Diplomats feat. Cam'ron

    track 1 on disc 2
    Diplomatic Immunity [2003]
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    (Woman singing in background)

    [Intro: Jimmy Jones]
    You see man
    Let's get off of that lame man
    Let's get into what we like to do man
    This what we do preferably man
    We bring that powerful music to your table man
    Killa, let 'em know something

    Young Guru, Just Blaze, Killa, Diplomats, huh
    Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Freaky Zekey
    Hoffa, Dash, huh, Killa, huh

    Ya'll niggas dreamed it, I have seen it
    Body warm, heart anemic (I really mean it)
    Coke, a nigga steamed it, fiends I leaned 'em
    Beemer leaned it (I really mean it)
    Guns, really beaming, rarely miss, what's really good?
    Bikes, wheelie and creamin' (I really mean it)
    I'm a genius, poppadopalis, never leaning
    On your Zenith (I really mean it)
    Killa, bury more mutts, they actually all ducks
    Caddy more trucks, its daddy Warbucks
    And you Orphan Annie
    Ma, take off your panties
    Sea soft and sandy (I really mean it)
    Yeah, let's get lost in candy
    I got lost in Boston, Austin, flossin' of course Miami
    Reno, Nevada sip pino colada
    Mama I'm seen on the Prada (I really mean it)
    I rock more in Phoenix road to glory
    Seen it, you seen it (I really mean it)
    The game abuse it, its pain in music
    But this year, wrist wear remains the bluest
    I get lame and lose it, beef came to do it
    Aim and shoot it, flames 'til your brains the fluid
    Ya'll just kids, see what I just did, take a couple bars off
    Let Just {Blaze} live

    [Jim Jones]
    Yeah, now that's powerful music man
    You need to pop something and roll something (I really mean it)
    Killa we did it man, I got your back forever, Dip Set (I really mean it)
    And them lames, we pop them sideways and drag them faggots (I really mean it)

    Ok, we back in
    Mami listen (I really mean it)
    Hey yo lock my garage, rock my massage
    Fuck it, bucket by Osh Kosh Bgosh
    Golly I'm gully, look at his galoshes
    Gucci, gold, platinum plaque collages
    From collabos, ghost writing for assholes
    Want to use my brain, than give Killa mad dough
    It's all good, increase Killa cash flow
    Increase my fame, that's why Killa smash hoes
    You'll get side swiped, look at my life
    First movie ever, merked out Mekhi Phife
    And papi got jerked out of pies twice
    Dip Set, we working with five dice
    Cee-lo and craps, c-notes and stacks
    I send bodies with, read this note attached
    Ya youngin' fucked with boys in the hood
    Gave her a son like Ricky, from 'Boyz in the Hood'
    On the couch bloody, old lady sighing
    Wifey screaming (I really mean it)
    Pissy little baby crying
    Fuck upped man shit, there you seen it (I really mean it)
    Fam man, you terry cloth, that mean you very soft
    Gravy Mercedes, add the cranberry sauce

    [Jim Jones]
    Yeah, gangstas ride man, Flex we got you, guns up (I really mean it)
    And all my ladies man, the ghettos a diddy, I need you, I want you (I really mean it)
    Oh, pop something, roll something, get twisted, that's on Jim nigga (I really mean it)
    Harlem! Man we here to stay, it's nothing left to say man (I really mean it)
    Eastside, and as for that lame man, now see I ain't even gone say your last name
    Cuz that's mine, I catch you, you know what it is
    You faggot!
    I ain't gone get to hyped over you man, we gone bury you
    See if you bout it, bout it
    Cuz we is (I really mean it)
    This song was submitted on January 20th, 2005 and last modified on November 28th, 2016.
    Copyright with Lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing Llc.
    Written by Cameron Giles, Joseph Jefferson, Charles Simmons, Justin Smith.
    Lyrics licensed by LyricFind.

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