We Got U Opin (Part 2)

Lyrics

[Verse 1: Rah Digga] I be the worst nightmare to all the MC thugs (Uh) Like them four little kids and the teacher gettin' plugged (With the) I don't give a fuck style, tell me come jiggy I rock, kix and swishees, coppin' moet wit' 2 counterfeit 50's, what? Dirty girl rhyme spit mucous, speech uncouth And raise the roof like Lukas 12 years done rocked through all phases Watch yo' peeps scream the bitch was the blazest [Verse 2: Spliff Starr] Niggas run they mouth about my click, not smart (So what) I butt your blood clot, then drop you 'pon the sidewalk (Chi-chi-chi-Blow!!!) Hit yo' ass with a vicious blow (Hah) You know my style, Spliff the foul through your stereo (That's right, yeah) Spliff Starr ignorant immigrant, I'm gettin' it (That's right) Money, fast car, fine broads, what, I'm hittin' it (That's right) Raw shit, I'm spittin' it (That's right), at you and yours Make you feel the pain, nigga like the dick to your balls Thug blood fluid pumpin' in the face of my music (Uh-huh) Drop the street shit, watch the whole world rock to it Nigga squad- [Verse 3: Baby Sham] Squad had em opin', had his bitch scopin' (Uh-huh) Sittin' by the bar sippin' Heinken's totein' (So what, yeah) Pinky rings glowin' triple beams to the club (What?) My man is half thug givin' me pounds and hold grudge (Come on) Feelin' my shit (What), so I can put a lock on your clique (Uh-huh) Your style is past tense Hold on, hold on, you just started rappin' Ever since you heard the shit we fuckin' wit' is platinum (Ah) Slow your growth, stop the show, go at you both Hit you with more bars than soap Sham is the name, feelin' in vain, fiendin' for dope [Hook: Buckshot] Yeah, you know we got cha opin', don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin' You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin' You know we got cha opin' [Verse 4: Rampage] Niggas made me mad and now I wanna clap shit (Uh) I reign supreme in this muthafuckin' rap shit (Uh) I lost my mind, I can't get it back (What?) the way that I'm spittin', yo I split ya fuckin' wig back (Uh!), don't front, my squad got you opin' (Uh) Hit you with a buck fifty, here's a token (Uh) Ramp' is smokin' (Uh), I'm no joke and I leave your face broken (Uh!) This is survival of the fittest, get wit' us (Uh) All you critics and bullshitters, my nine goes bang (Uh), I'm talkin' street slang (Slang) I'm reppin' Flipmode plus I'm doin' my thang On the side (Uh) we won't let it ride (Uh), nigga don't hide (Hide, hide...) [Verse 5: Lord Have Mercy] Landlord innovator, switch lanes, no indicator The general, cash generator, master and saviour Nigga stay massive in nature, when tooth shatter ya die, bone In the savage cyclone of cops, sirens and cases Who read the bible for basics? When I'm crooked eye with rivals Horizontal in God's places Suspicious of all (Now, who dat?) Quick on the draw, lick a paw For loved ones blood runs cold in the winter wars Check the criminal thoughts, villains warp with the invincible force Know the ledge, stay focused like photo lens And spread wings like Cobra heads 'til I'm old and dead [Verse 6: Busta Rhymes] Hot shit, toxic, you know we block shit Traffic in the streets system, all in yo' jeep knocks shit Julio for no reason, back the fifth and he cocks it Rock shit, we make niggas mad and wanna pop shit Massive, so attractive, niggas is captive Chemotherapy needed, lyrics radioactive When I hit hard it get my dick hard In my backyard, analyse the stars on how to defeat all odds In a new zone, I'm on a new phone Make most of the whackest rapper niggas wanna find they new home Like Rasco jeans, my style flip two-tone, pass my blue chrome Here's one of the best of Busta Rhymes own My debut made you wonder who shit blazes so much You wish you could play out so you could blaze, too Before I shout you, or get reason to doubt you I study shit and re-analyse everything about you My rhymes on the preserve, niggas know we deserve Everything up in your stash and in the reserve, fuck that! Hook up all my lyrics on the echoes and the reverbs Never fuck with these herbs, my squad remains superb [Verse 7: Buckshot] (Heh) Walkin' through the streets, under-covers follow us Stressed muthafuckas on the regular to bust, trust us We don't get enough, nigga wha-what? Dirty baggy jeans, black nap-sack with somethin' for ya gut Wooly-type skully, fully strapped, black bulletproof, to match Quick whip up a batch of bullets to blow up the map Shit collapse, perhaps doin' this in the raps In the long time, ya trapped, Buck make 'em react God verse attack, let 'em know the moon is still black And it's a fact, don't front [Hook: Buckshot] You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin' You know we got cha opin', don't front You know we got cha opin', yo, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, don't front You know we got cha opin', kid, yo, stop frontin' Flipmode got cha opin', yo [Outro: Buckshot] Huh, word life Yeah, mad niggas opin' Word life, Flipmode, muthafuckin' Buckshot Mad nigga scopin', smokin' Buck to ya brain, uh [Skit: Intro to "Straight Spittin"] [Busta Rhymes] Mm-hm-hm-hm, yeah, motherfucker See, this the part of the album, where we gon' take all y'all niggas to the basement Where the authentic hip-hop thoroughbred representation shit is at The basement shit, muh'fucka, feel this