to plot Or these niggaz on the block who want the queen (Nigga please) But even she can walk we'll miss her we ain't gon' fake it But God don't make mistakes
motherfucker, and you ain't a B-dawg You actin way too phony, and now you pissin me off Fake gangster who you killed? Fake pimp what you sayin? Yo' album sound fake
know how the story go Tryin to bump that tryin to show em where ya heart at ima show ya where the thug at u gotta live that, i gotta fake that u a itty
the Planets made jam Wallowed through a gang a murk in the interim I couple time we got jerked but still invented them Wicked little kinky joints that got us ghetto weight And also kept the jazz
New York Boroughs As they temp our perms, plus I ride the iron worms Uptown across down, from the boogie with no fake Ghetto to my marrow then ease on
has to fuck him up They say that my projects should undergo therapy We never voted, we votin' for Oprah, Obama, and Eric B Guns imported from Dubra Wheel jazz
down the river And I ain't for these racist wars A lie's fed by these TV whores I know, it's more to news fake the truth We break through won't lose
many, came to kick away any job Umm, cat, conniver if it's abstract I'm liable take portion cause I'll fly that head ? Dig the jazz that's closets from
tired of looking at everybody, same boots, skully hats in 90 degree weather, looking to get into clubs for free I'm not smoking blunts, or looking for jazz
night, yo, that I just been through I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue These two guys, no three guys, no four, yo, this posse Try to fake
EDI Mean] Because I'm headin somewhere And them other (niggaz baby) (rappers gone) gonna be dead in a year Plus, I know you tired of them fake thugs All
Normalize the signal when you're banging on freon Paleolithic eon Put the fake goatee on And it booms as cool as Sugar free jazz Schools he bombs, he
real, order them all That's an auto-fraud Almost bought one, they told me 60 thou I took my cash, spend it round town like Taz Last king, young CEO, my nigga Jazz
Then it's Bandstand, Disneyland, growin' up fast Drinkin' on a fake I.D. Yeah, and Rama of the jungle was everyone's Bawana But only jazz musicians
in waves and tired of all this celebration you milked the tree, You must get down I'm already down just when do you start to fake a love for jazz and
a greater rank Than MC's, not aware of situations That'll force one to understand, true stipulations Thou shalt not bite, thou shalt not front Fake
what a night, yo, that I just been through I barely made it home from this hip-hop venue These 2 guys, no 3 guys, no fourth, yo, this posse Try to fake
we fake moves (Come on, come on) We gotta make moves Never, ever, ever could we fake moves (Come on, come on) We gotta make moves Never, ever, ever could we fake