Текст песни Fake Homeyz - PMD, 3rd Eye

Fake Homeyz

Word em up
(Ya man)
Check it out
(Comin through)
Well goddamn, another grand slam from the Zone
Black Benz with chrome, no time to phone home
Niggas try to push up, get that head flown like frisbee
Dick thee, flip the script like Bill Bixby
I ain’t tryin to hear niggas, that’s on the real, c-
D is in the store
So while you’re steppin through, nigga, steppin through hardcore
(What) P holds his own on this here microphone
You better check your clip for blinds, all them shots, kid, still missed the
dome
Fakin moves, put down the future of the funk, punk
Can’t even sample, nigga, claimin to make trunks rump
You get jumped, yeah nigga, chill, I know my shit thumps
Back from the Boondox wildin, peep the slam dunk
Lumps on your headpiece, back in 3-d
I let the brothers decide just like sweepee
But for now I lay low, act like you know me, homey
(*inhales*) here’s a pull for my fake homeyz
I be the Op-T Lity-Qua, the one you leaped
You gotta see the tricky techniques, creep but don’t sleep
Got the chunky dunky styles I like to drop
Makes heads bop across mad blocks because I got
That shit that knock, a-shippity-bop-bop the spot, still hot
Ooh-ah-ooh-ah, no need to cock-block, equipped with no glocks
I rather wreck you with my decker
And damage ya, I’m no janitor but I swept ya I kept a record of the things you messed up Niggas thought that he musta rushed
Cause I touched these ducks fuckin with yuk
So if you do not know by now you never knew
I’m straight like 0852
I welcome you but you still refuse to swing your dukes
You gotta do what you do Get the boot if you can’t troop for shit
We’re gettin still get a lick with a bit
I won’t switch cause P is not havin it I catch you when the sun goes down on the night tip
I’m standin with my mic grip
Hardcore rugged, walkin down the aisles, make you buckwild
Go check my files, you know my style
Here’s a pull for my fake homeyz
On the strenght, on the strenght
3rd Eye comin through.
Yeeeahhh, now let me kick a verse, gee
I’m thirsty, Lord have mercy on those who curse me Peek-a-boo! thought I couldn’t see through that gas up Quick, I flicked a Bic and burned that wicked ass up Who sent me, tempt me, gee, I flow till my dome’s empty
Test me, baggin brothers up like ???, yes gee
Bring it on, we play for keeps, creep
Can’t read my mind, I got the antidote sleep, peep it And I get funky ??? like a junkie I’m dope
When I quote shit I wrote I go for broke no joke
I choke rappers like a toke of smoke
Ooh, pass the buddah brick I need to take a hit
I think I wanna flare (is that right?)
Who want a bite, just to kiss that ass goodnight
Cause word is bond we gon' fight
It’s from the heart, brothers getting papers, they ain’t paid no dues
I got some bad news, here comes the Hit Squad
And my shit’s hard and it gets harder than that
Even ??? my shit’s fat start believin that
You ain’t even that fly enough to try and bluff
3rd Eye’s rough enough to make you wanna bust that rough stuff
So here’s a puff for my fake homeyz
(*inhales*) you don’t know me Here’s a puff for my fake homeyz
You don’t know me Here’s a puff for my fake homeyz
Fuck all the backstabbers
Hit Squad is in the house, kid
3rd Eye, 3rd Eye
Yeah kid
Shit is on