The Club

Lyrics

[Verse 1: O.C.] The whole city's under siege when we come through wit' guns blazin' You need to take a seat, son, you just started shavin' Respect ya elders, stay in and child's play The monotone flow stayin' even wit the bass Oh, good Lord, we throw it like a javelin toss Arrogance is the feature that we added for floss Come and get headline, destined to get riches From either rappin' our ass off, or brick shipments Cover all regions, makin' sure the product gets spread out We talk behind the MAC you bust lead out Wit' next prospect, no particular concept do we follow Smooth, but yet solid like marble [Verse 2: Diamond D.] Niggas ain't fuckin wit' D., fuckin' wit' me Lookin' at me, like "Yo, what can it be?" In the Widebody 7, while you suckin' the D Spent out in the wedge, while I'm fuckin' for free Scared to death, like you stuck in a tree I'ma stretch your ass out, like I'm cuttin' the deed Frontin' like a big man, but you stuck in a 3 So you know your floss game ain't nothin' to me When the Sun hits the cross, yo, it's something to see Arty, Kid Capri, niggas runnin' wit me Twenty karats on the wrist ain't nothin' to me Do you no good frontin' to me, nigga [Verse 3: Kid Capri] Aiyyo, Tone, let's Touch these niggas wit' the wand Then blow up like a bomb Made moves faster than the Autobahn The Kid Capri is a institution, and all ya'll niggas is pollution Stirrin' up a whole lot of confusion It's simple, let's move out all these corn cats And disc jock dissin' MC's that got the borin' raps Fuck what ya got, grimey niggas don't wanna hear it Niggas take it, soon as they near it, you better fear it Bronx Bomber, the pretty fly girl charmer The Black Italian, the cash keep pilin' as I'm smilin' So hear me now, I bring the thunder, plus the rumble And I'll step back and watch your whole career just crumble [Verse 4: A.G.] Well, it's the cheeba steamer Brains on trains, won't eat her neither Benz to the plane, off the plane to the Beemer Insane and off the meter, in the rain, I'll heat up And ya'll can't stop my sunshine, fuck one-time Got heavyweight gats that'll push your face back Trash-ass album, sound like you played it on 8-track Rip you from the roots and under Triple Gooses in the summer Mean long guns is producin' the thunder Convertible Hummers, we shit on a drop Try to put the roof up, I'll tell Show to piss on the top Wrist on the watch, roll wit' a click or a Glock Plan on gettin' a lot, from spittin' or not Cool wit' niggas that be flippin' a lot Probably got shit on your block And if you hate, I'll take it back to '88 (Nigga, get off the top!) It's 2-G's, let's get this money – you wit' it or not? But I'll switch topics, like my bitch wit' thongs in the Tropics Make hits, straight hits Perform as long as I got it Seven-digits, wit' my name on the dotted Remain dirty and potted, ya'll know me for the ruckus G.D., I only can fuck wit' Get the Dutch and tell Tony to Touch it [Verse 5: Party Arty] Guns, I tote them things Blunts, I smoke them things Rhymes, I wrote them things It's no such thing, as hoes fron-ting We run train, I do my thug thing Grab the mic and leave a mud stain So get Tide wit' bleach when I rhyme wit' beats Niggas do crimes to eat No pork, I don't talk, the nines just speak I'm the kind to creep on your block wit' the heat cocked Got the street locked, smackin' niggas out they Reeboks It's Party Arty, I get dirty wit' the Ewoks The infrared hit you in the head from three blocks – away "Been There, Done That," like Dr. Dre "It Ain't My Fault," like Silkk The Shocker say Ya'll niggas gots to pay, shots'll spray From the Bronx to Far Rockaway My whole team, strapped like Bokeem Fuck bein' in jail, trapped wit' no cream [Verse 6: Lord Finesse] I be the don that's known to have the style sewn More cheese than calzones, give chicks the dial tone Build like brownstones when we slaughter your plan Touch album's so hot, comes wit' a portable fan Type to starve the mic when I hog the light Lay my life on the line if the odds is right Get in the spot and gleam While you plot and scheme to stop the team Three words, nigga: "Watch and dream" You just mad, hater, 'cause we movin' wit' dough You don't make no sense, like wearin' suede shoes in the snow Finesse frontin'? Y'all know me, I don't stress nothin' Bought your album, that's how I broke the Eject button Don't stress dudes, we just plot our next move Make niggas look stupid, like jogging pants wit' dress shoes The prophet, shit John Blaze like the Tropics Type of nigga need a ab roller, just for my pockets Don't flex punks, we sex stunts, collect lumps You're flossin' now, you'll be pardoned by next month Type of thug – yo, I was born to bug Waitin' for us to fall? Nigga, join the club – what