Medina Style

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Phantasm] I don't like to write about the bad times and the bad crimes Or how I stuck up or martyr dimes Already stressed, dealing with the niggas that's fake The industry snakes and on the streets is the jakes Half of y'all talking how much you keep it real The other half of y'all don't even got deals All that rah-rah you screaming? Already lived it Saw the realm side of hip-hop, we tried to give it Never did the court cases, phone traces, car chases Or been Incarcerated like Scarfaces—huh! I remember those days, that's how I was living I did more Robin than Givens, but hey Now I freak Megahurtz beats (Beats) One-fifty 'cause I don't eat (Eat), still ain't nothing sweet (Sweet) You're name ain't Sanford and you ain't got no Sons Don't play me for Grady, my trigger finger benches three-eighty No need for jaw-tapping or scrapping I'm from Brooklyn, so I'm Original Gun-Clapping [Verse 2: U.G.] I get mad dramatic, jam like automatics when I'm speaking (True) Icepicks and razors hit your face and leave you leaking—huh! U.G., my mood swings like the Dodgers I'll push your wig back, hit my crib and change my shit like Mister Rogers (Whoo!) My skills bust off like a nine M&M When it hits your skin, burns like a weed stem—check it! Champagne, money, and TECs (TECs), a Lex (Lex) On my wrist is a crisp, blue-faced Rolex (Uh-huh) With diamonds, assorted Timbs, MOMO rims Sipping gin straight, take your flicks holding two trey-eights (Yeah) Nickel-plated, hated by po-po, cop dough like a bank teller And Old Gold makes my piss yeller [Chorus: U.G. & (Phantasm)] What, what?!? Who want it? It's time to get dough (Time to blow, rock a show, bag a ho) Yeah 'Cause niggas know our steelo on the low for real (Blast steel, yo, son, what's the deal?) [Verse 3: Phantasm] C.D's, the newest and illest breed of MCs Tryna get this crib, a Land and bank keys When I'm done with this, get my son in this, but, for now, I'm running this The dangerous, the ruggedness from the Flatbush abyss I down 151 Bacardi Dark, shoot threes In any park, BK is the mark Church Ave, I represent, shooting cee-lo on the corner Sipping Corona. The only Gaye I want is Nona—huh! I light your crib up like my name was GE Lyrically, not many can see me or U.G Remember we got the rhymes that you wanna listen ta Once it's in your deck, leave it in like conditioner I'm on a mission to make you understand my plan And get four, five, six grand doing shows in Japan [Verse 4: U.G.] Yo, check this (What?), reckless kids run rampant with guns But I run rampant for funds, wanting jewels by the tons, son (Yeah) It's been real since nine months Pull out my frame, step on 'em, and I'll blow you with my fronts Ya dig? Notorious like B.I.G., push back a wig Drove a Ac' Vig' that was stolen one day Gunplay similar to Jesse James (Yeah) Could set the flames (Uh-huh) while I bag a Notre Dame I used to hop the trains, now I rock Italian chains Clothes with names of fashion, on my roof blasting New guns with funds like I hit the lottery, flicks Kicks, chicks, shape like pottery, I'm on-point, kid The anointed rapper will amaze ya I'm iller, I'll bless the mic then be Ghost like Face Killah [Chorus: U.G. & (Phantasm)] What, what?!? Who want it? It's time to get dough (Time to blow, rock a show, bag a ho) Yeah 'Cause niggas know our steelo on the low for real (Blast steel, yo, son, what's the deal?)