"Jay-Z Brooklyn's Finest" lyrics - JAY-Z
(Pain in da ass)
Okay, I'm reloaded
You motherfuckers, think you big time?
Fuckin' with Jay-Z, you gon' die, big time
Here come the pain
Jigga
(Jigga)
Bigga
(Bigga)
Nigga, how you figure
(How you figure)
Yeah, yeah, yeah, aiyyo
Peep the style and the way the cops sweat us
(Uh, huh)
The number one question is can the Feds get us
(Uh, huh)
I got vendettas in dice games against ass betters
(Uh, huh)
And niggaz who pump wheels and drive Jettas
Take that witcha
Hit ya, back split ya, fuck fist fights and lame scuffles
Pillow case to your face, make the shell muffle
Shoot your daughter in the calf muscle
Fuck a tussle, nickel-plated
Sprinkle coke on the floor, make it drug related
Most hate it
Can't fade it, while y'all pump Willie, I run up in stunts silly
Scared, so you sent your little mans to come kill me
But on the contrilli, I packs the mack-milli
Squeezed off on him, left them paramedics breathin' soft on him
What's ya name?
Who shot ya? Mob ties like Sinatra
Peruvians tried to do me in, I ain't paid them yet
Tryin' to push 700's, they ain't made them yet
Rolex and bracelets is frostbit rings too
Niggaz 'round the way call me Igloo Stix, motherfucker
(Who?)
Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?)
Brooklyn, goin' out for all
Marcy, that's right, you don't stop
Bed-Stuy, you won't stop, nigga
What, what, what?
Jay-Z, Big' Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
Brooklyn represent y'all, hit you fold
You crazy, think your little bit of rhymes can play me?
I'm from Marcy, I'm varsity, chump, you're JV
And Bigga, baby, my Bed-Stuy flow's malicious, delicious
Fuck three wishes, made my road to riches
From 62's, gem stars, my moms dishes
Gram choppin', police van dockin', D's at my doors knockin'
What? Keep rockin' no more, Mister Nice Guy
I twist your shit, the fuck back with them pistols, blazin'
Hot like Cajun, hotter than even holdin' work at the Days Inn
With New York plates outside, get up outta there, fuck your ride
Keep your hands high, shit gets steeper
Here comes the Grim Reaper, Frank Wright
Leave the keys to your In-tegra
(That's right)
Chill homie, the bitch in the Shoney's told me
You're holdin' more drugs than a pharmacy, you ain't harmin' me
So pardon me, pass the safe, before I blaze the place
And here's six shots just in case
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?)
Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Crown Heights)
You don't stop
(Brownsville)
You won't stop, nigga
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Hah hah! Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where we from?)
Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Bushwick)
You don't stop
(Fort Greene)
You won't stop, niggaz
Yeah, yeah, yeah, for nine six, the only MC with a flu
Yeah, I rhyme sick, I be what you're tryin' to do
Made a fortune off Peru, extradite, China white heron
Nigga please, like short sleeves I bear arms
Stay out my way from here on, gone
(Clear?)
Me and Gutter had two spots
The two for five dollar hits, the blue tops
Gotta go, Coolio mean it's gettin' "Too Hot"
If Fay' had twins, she'd probably have 2-Pac's
Get it? Tu-pac's
Time to separate the pros from the cons
The platinum from the bronze
That butter soft shit from that leather on the Fonz
A S1 diamond from a eye class don
A Cham' Dom' sipper from a Rosay nigga, huh?
Brook-Nam, sippin' on
Cristal forever, play the crib when it's mink weather
The M.A.F.I.A. keep canons in they Marc Buchanans
Usually cuatro cinco, the shell sink slow, tossin' ya
Mad slugs through your Nautica, I'm warnin' ya
(Hah, what the fuck?)
Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?)
Brooklyn goin' out to all
(Flatbush)
You don't stop
(Redhook)
You won't stop, nigga
(Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn)
Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga shit ya drawers
(Where you from?)
Brooklyn goin' out to all
(East New York)
You don't stop
(Clinton Hill)
You won't stop, nigga
(Is Brooklyn in the house?)
Uhh, Roc-A-Fella, y'all, Junior M.A.F.I.A.
Superbad click, Brook-lyn's Finest, you re-wind this
Represetin' BK to the fullest