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Beanie Sigel - Philly's finest

Beanie Sigel :: :: Philly's finest




  
   (mixed and scratched sample)
  P-H-I-L-L-Y, North, West, Southwest South side
  P-H-I-L-L-Y, Give it to them bitches and niggas who stay fly
  
  [Verse 1 - Beanie]
  You know my flavor
  Low linen double s gators
  Jeans ripped on purpose
  written in cursive
  Tool shirt with the belt to match
  Four pound send shots through your Celtics cap
  You know me, B. Sigel with that lethal spit
  Fuck around and get your people hit
  Tek 22 see through clip
  Niggas know who I creep through with
  Major niggas, you know, Major Figgas
  I roll them corners and drop four birds with four words
  Niggas get the flippin
  Before niggas get the missin
  I'm known for that duct tape, rope and pistol whippin
  Back door, dope and coke from when boat ship in
  It ain't no tellin what I do for a trunk of crack
  Told y'all dudes that I'm quick to trunk a cat
  You know my tools, either the pump or the mac
  Catch me at your kids school playin Uncle Mac
  
  [Verse 2 - Journ]
  Yo what you think I couldn't shine on you cause your chain glistenin?
  When they said the name Journalist you wasn't listenin
  Change the condition of the Range that you sittin in
  Pull out the pistol in, shoot out your Michelins
  Leave you in your boy Rover with a poor odor
  Journ, slim bulldozer with the broad shoulders
  Week into your tour I'ma call your broad over
  Before she hits us a line, bustin the whore rollers
  You tryin to play the fast role
  Dawg you an ass hole
  Your chick gave me your cock, cigar and your bath robe
  Test the circle, beat you till your purple
  Then have my man search you from your hat to your workboots
  Fam fuck you and the cats that co signed you
  Catch you while you on your (?) and clothesline you
  Tryin to cop a spot like the one they shot Tony in
  Journalist for Doo Wop, the true Mitronian
  
  [Bridge - Dutch]
  P-H-I-L-L-Y
  Why should we tell y'all why?
  Where why and how we ride?
  P-H-I-L-L-Y
  
  [Verse 3 - Gillie]
  A'yo rap cancer, flow sick I flow iller
  My goal is to move more units than Thriller
  Its G-D-K slash God damn killer
  slash Gillie Da Kid
  Nigga can I live?
  Guns keep, never get rid
  Did a minor bid
  Only for one week
  A Thug let his gun speak
  Real player, never fall in love with a freak
  My raps is like crack, I distribute to the street
  O's in the form of flows, China Whyte
  You say I'm okay, your chick think I'm dynamite
  She love my flow, she love my clothes
  When it come to them, I'm like Snoop "I don't love them hoes"
  See my niggas cop cars, wash blood off the stone
  Knowin that my waste'll probly sell a million alone
  Nigga bout robbin Gillie? Un uh, pullin the chrome
  Aimin straight at your face then I'm killin you holmes
  
  [Verse 4 - Dutch]
  MF it don't get no realer than that
  See the jails got my niggas I'm takin em back
  Serve em out for any smoker who got taste for the crack
  I'm takin it all, whether its a safe or a pack
  I'm layin you down, whether its a eight or a mac
  See I love to bust guns, but I hated the sound
  and I muzzled em up dawg just to quiet em down
  Where my West coast niggas at? Shots to the ground
  Where my East coast niggas at? Safes's and pounds
  I got, pimp in my walk nigga, pimp in my talk
  Dawg I bust you niggas first before my players fall
  I'm already called it quits, don't want it in no more
  Put the gun to my head, blaow say fuck it all
  You can't get no women player, they don't want a war
  You can't sell no cane dawg, you too damn soft
  Me I sell it all player, from the hard to soft
  You just a boss player, tryin'a roll with boss
  
  [Bridge]
  
  [Verse 5 - Bump]
  Seems like you don't know how much life is left
  Till I revolve six in your chest
  start at your vest
  Send you into cardiac arrest
  chokin, weezin
  What gave you the idea that Bump wasn't squeezin
  Bump ain't packin? Bump ain't holdin?
  Bump won't put it in your face leave it swolen?
  Do it for the paper, yeah players hate my hustle
  Young nigga, chrome 38 I hate to tussle
  Six hundred platinum skates from the muscle
  Keep work on the strip, shit I live to the hustle
  Step my game up to a bird from a bundle
  Football shit, cook wrong nigga fumble
  Blocks on the shoes, twelve on the wheel
  Cris till I spit in the club with the steel
  I hope you niggas thinkin Bump J won't kill
  You be dead on arrival
  Nigga no survival
  

Rozrywka

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