Play Your Part
Title | Play Your Part |
---|---|
Artist | Re-Up Gang |
Album | We Got It 4 Cheap, Vol. 2 |
Release Date | October 2005 |
Description | The beat for this song was originally produced by Havoc for Mobb Deep’s “Cobra.” |
Lyrics | [Verse 1: Pusha T] I got ya mind niggas! Quite frankly, I don't understand these claims You ain't know, I was pushin' AKA Brick James You can't touch this, and on the fed's list of names And I hibernated immediate when Pusha hit fame I'm cold blooded, similar watch the rose flooded The leather in that Aston yellow like cold mustard Now run along, my gun is long Ya life expectancy short if them talons sing along I glamorize, ya fantasize my life like The hoes, the flights, the flow that's poltergeist Yankin' the spirit from the demons seein' through the snow Like Carolina bitch [?] dreamin'? I'm losin 'em All the snow in the timepiece confusin' 'em All the snow on the concrete Peruvian I flew 'em in, it ruined men I'm through with them Blame from us got in they life So go and sue me then [Verse 2: Ab-Liva] Keep my gravy on, pound every pave we on Skully and the thermal, get my Army/Navy on Blocks with the dirty kids is missin' the [?] As I jazz, [?] over these beats a la savia Swagger unrivaled, I'm what Cassius Clay be on Far removed from baggin' that work up in the Clarion Four chairs, four men, wood table, 12-12 Baggies in them single edge, razors from the corner store Cocaine connoisseur, new way of doing big business Bill Gates although I'm thinkin' like a dinosaur Pushin' on them keys like a minor chord Jimmy crack corn was the reason we put it over them irons for Lion-hearted, the king of the upholding Ridin' for the same love Lauryn wrote and sang out to Zion for I am crowned king, I'm not tryin' for, dyin' for I squeeze first to shoot, they screamin' and they cryin' for [Hook: Pusha T] We want LA nigga, we want New York And everywhere in between 'cuz you niggas don't talk the talk Everybody say they hustlin', you niggas don't walk the walk Our dope dealer swag so real nigga, play your part [Verse 3: Sandman] Now how you wanna play this? Just racists rent it like Avis Final stages Get held, triple Caucasian This invasion, abrasive, like we racin' Finish line, the vivid dime Martin-colored vintage wine Pick one, stick one, they vagina While they hatin, then ya straight to shinin' Niggas love to perpetrate beyond ya Point of livin' on, the joint is risen huh Anoint ya dead and gone One shot fucked up ya ordeal Six o clock news, you're [?] like shit real Ya know how I do on Tuesday they still will I'm cool like Jack Jill Bad bitch they like, "ew!" Fat boy still that boy Cruisin with a gat 4 Cross me catch a back fall Spit rounds, the forehead catch that Board dismissed like school's out Let's move out or lose out You might also like[Verse 4: Malice] Oh how lame! These niggas in the game They fuckin' with my hip hop, have you any shame? Bag in that Ziplock, move it on a plane Like Green Eggs and Ham: move it on a train Move it on a bus, or Federal Express it Don't pick it up yourself from them unknown addresses Acura legend, graduated to the Lexus To them SL5 to the hues and the necklace I was Richard Gere, I had bitches breathless Along come the hate, niggas talkin' reckless Mentioning ya name, the natives gettin' restless Offerin' info and gettin' all excessive Like crabs in a barrel, they sing it like a carol The judge throw the book right before he slam the gavel Have gun, will travel, and I can't stand the sight Of a motherfuckin' tattle, such a waste of life [Hook] [Verse 5: Pharrell Williams] Star Trak's the black Pixar We imagine shit for specializing artwork videos Hit stars, record sellin' just like dope man I shit ya'll not, it's all not how hits ya'll got You hear the way up in my beat like a brick, it is treated then Trust me nigga, it's called chop, I hear it You tryna divide it Nip and tuck you Botox, tryin to hide it Some detune it, some take it up a key Sprinkle my kicks and snare, soundin' like little me's It's a shame 'cuz you make little cheese How you gangsta or pimp with little bullets, little freaks I know a couple thugs, couple G's I know a couple bloods, couple C's, RIP's And they don't know you, so who you gon' go to? Sell that bullshit show to? All that abracadabra, no one's flattered Many means ya missin' identities and swagger |