A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Masta Ace

"Family 1st"

[Hook: Masta Ace]
All my people 'round the way
If I see you on the block, on the corner, in the park, in the summer, I'ma say
"Don't go"
And let you know that this goes out to y'all
All my people in the hood
If I see you in the mix on the ave, all the fellas and the chicks I'ma yell
"Don't go"
And let you know that this goes out to y'all

[Verse One: Punchline]
Where I'm from it's money over b*tches
Don't be cool with snitches
Cause like the tax man they try to get you for your riches
Never burn bridges or exchange digits
Keep it real cool but yet still keep your distance
Don't f*ck with outsiders (Why?)
My stay in they mouth cause like a child on punishment, I keep it in house
My style, I never run out
Get murdered and ridiculed
Your fam's mourning you in all black like Hasidic Jews
Attitudes arrogant
You're scared to speak and
Your palms shaking just like a former greeting
I'm like time creeping
Y'all see me and run
Y'all need some heart like John Q's little son
I'm number one
Y'all back down once my squad came
Y'all cats fold like bad hands in a card game
We not the same
I'm deading your work
And y'all n*ggas can't eat cause my family's first

[Hook]

[Verse Two: Apocalypse]
They had us using bad words in pre-K
Seen a lot of things done the wrong way on the ave in BK
A young n*gga turnt out before the teen years
Virgin lung, bust cherry off skunk and green beer
After that I seen clear
I wrote a song about it
In my blood, now my lifeline I can't live without it
The people look to me like I'm hope in the flesh
What they don't know is what I think about myself is less
This is chess not checkers
I'm over block politics and running out to fiends, yo I choose to sell records
And y'all the type of dudes to rush and drop garbage
Me and my associates stay eating regardless
Winning in the pros while you losing in the novice
The Rookie Of The Year called Apocalypse
Far from sweet, I spread cuts through your crew all day
Shed blood and no love, that's the Brooklyn way

[Hook]

[Verse Three: Masta Ace]
Yo, if you got a couple of grand, I got a hot sixteen
I got a shawty at the crib and she not 16
Understand that I'm over you dudes like umbrellas
Ain't nothing you dumb fellas can come tell us
We sit at home lounging, collect checks in the mail
While we up in the spot, y'all waiting to exhale
But keep breathing, cause you still in the preseason
I'm knee deep in the game n*gga, you keep sleeping
And I'ma be wakin' ya up like No Doz
You assed out like no clothes when I throw bows
And come at my immediate area, I'll bury ya
So don't make me take it there like a carrier
I know y'all wanna be street, don't let it worry ya
First leave them gators alone like Steve Spurrier
And take your mind back to the days with no doe
Hit the block, keep it thorough
Find your people on the ave and yell it out

[Hook]

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #


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