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harlem n.y.c. - big l lyrics

[verse one, bootsie]
word to mother, i’m ready to set it
n*ggas can wet it, for foes that got spots and blocks for foes that is dead and
so slow down, before i have had to glow down
with the four pound, gas ready to blow us off mad rounds
i roll solo brandin’ n*ggas like a rap logo
you want beef with me, you rather call the f*ckin’ popo
i keep my crew creepin’, b*tches beepin’
when i do hits, i make sure they’re in their (?) sleepin’
you want problems with my murder team, who gets cream?
who takes me, to the highest extreme?
now check it, i’m the slim mackadocious
rip mc’s on some slow sh*t, all about some buck and get that dough sh*t
and when i battle mc’s i make ’em forfeit, playin’ suckas on some real m*th*f*ckin’ hoe sh*t
now check a grave n*gga comin’ thru, now check a grave n*gga comin’ thru
[verse two]
for those who try to get rid and choose who the one digga
foes betta consider, i’m all up in your sh*tta
there’s a chance you, hit a n*gga dismantle
my crew trample at night, for those who gamble they life
man handlin’ fights, and leave yo sh*t in shambles
and get a sample of my knife, with my cannabis slice, and yo
f*ck what other folks think, sh*t is no think
foes bring the drama, and the gun blows smoke rings
but uptown calls shots, and blowin’ up all spots
and watch how the ball bounces when the ball drops
cuz you can catch all shots, for all ounces
i state my claim and start countin’, over shore to be
bald spots, on strong tops, n*ggas need to stop believin’ pops
you see me on that cop, i got heaters for all rocks
for those who wonder, be the receiver of these hard knocks
this is where it all stops
you fierce n*ggas call the cops

[chorus]
yeah, this is how we do it, harlem, nyc
a bunch of grimey dudes, like you and me
my people are hungry and make illegal money
when he comes for weed, just flee the country (x2)

[verse three, mcgruff]
word to mans, my frontin’ harlem kids get biz
while these b*tch ass n*ggas put slacks in sizz
bring the ruckus, n*gga’s tome launched the m*th*f*ckas
drop the ball and bat, for those who can’t even touch us
camouflage fatigue, and, timberland boots
ice and toners, extra clips let n*ggas get the bonus
guerilla warfare, we’re taking no shorts here
remember, for fear, we out and never report there
life is twisted, live trife stripe with the biscuit
whatever i tell you on the mic, i lived it. true stuff
you think you’re bad? then come thru gruff
ask about me, never been the one who bluffed
fill the floor, f*ck em, butch, and steal your chores
outlaws, makin’ millions stealing bras
mcgruff, rush head junkie twistin some dust
hard crush, waitin’ for systems to bust
flip the script, them clown cats get pistol whipped
them crystals rip, lord knows i been thru some sh*t
now yall remember me? ever since public school on 23
elementary, lumpin’ up n*ggas memories
evil do the weed from the grimey people from the sewer
on malcolm x, harlem, 139 street the lugers
yo name don’t hold weight in my domain
you’ll get slain for gold chains and grain of cocaine
the wolf’s out, so you better look out
or get took out, blazed up like a cook out
cuz big gruff’s the mate
i don’t care, mothaf*ck the jakes
pushin’ ducks with fake, when he get stuck for cake
with the tray*eight, make n*ggas strip like straight
catch ’em comin’ from compton, rob ’em and flip they weight
double the profit, gettin’ high from bubblin’ chocolate
since the juve, and now i used to start trouble and croft it
then it all smokes, boom, lit up your hall
thugged over all, bust my gun, throw blows at brawls
waitin’ for foes to fall, debatin’ what hoes to call
trife n*gga for life, ’till it’s all over y’all
[verse four, big l]
harlem’s on the map now, and i’m the backbone
i’m only happy until all the stores in my home is black owned
and it’s a fact tomes, my crew pack chromes, and crack domes
and sport rollie’s with fat stones
i’m quick to bust a mean nut in some teen sl*t
big l is clean cut, reward jewels like king tut
so hold on and prepare to get rolled on
my crew robs every f*g that walks through with gold on
i cruise slow with the gun on my lap
so keep runnin’ your trap, and i’ll put one in your cap
got mad places to go, buyin’ cases of mo’
while you’re doing cases for dough, cuz ur papers is low, what

[chorus]
yeah, this is how we do it, harlem, nyc
a bunch of grimey dudes, like you and me
my people are hungry and make illegal money
when he comes for weed, just flee the country (x2)

- big l lyrics

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