Artist/Band:
Funkmaster Flex
Lyrics for Song: What Son What - Capone-N-Noreaga
Lyrics for Album: Other Songs - Funkmaster Flex
[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!?
[Capone]
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
[Chorus]
[M.A.Z.E.]
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
[Noreaga]
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
[Chorus]
[Mussolini]
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
[Chorus]
[Norega]
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)
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