Guess Who`s Back Lyrics

Guess Who`s Back lyrics

feat. Beanie Sigel, Jay-Z

[Jay-Z talking]
Talk to me man...
This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the muh'f**kin noise up
We'll get right into the proceedings this evening
Headphones are distortin, bring it down a lil' bit
Okay - now we workin wit it
The boy Face on the bassline, Face - Mob!
Welcome to New York City... it's ya boy Young Hov' chea
Conyay West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's goin on now
Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)
Lemme talk to these muh'f**kas, uhh

[Jay-Z]
Guess who's bizack?
You still smellin crack in my clothes
Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes
Take it back out to taxin them roads
When I was huggin it, niggaz couldn't do nuttin wit it
Straight from the oven wit it - came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth, for the sh*t she instilled in me
Still with me, pain plus work
Shit she made me milk this game for all it's worth
That's right, these niggaz can't f**k with me
I'm callin guts everytime, drag my nuts everytime
Homey, we make a great combination don't we?
Me and the Face Mob, everytime we play face-off
Face it y'all, y'all niggaz playin basic ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall
Homey, I'm in th drop with the AC on
That's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!

[Hook]
Guess who's bizack?
Back on the block with the old Face Mob
Mack, Neef, and Hov'
Don't make me relax
Back to the block with the fo'
Cuz this street sh*t is all I know

[Scarface]
From the womb to the tomb - a hot pot of joy and a spoon
Tryna make me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons
Plain clothes wanna run in my room (whooooo...)
But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob
 
Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawg
Give niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game go
f**k you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)
I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chase
I wanna f**k a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
Don't got no wholesale, cuz that's not how I wanna run it
Here take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta see my feet dude, you do sh*t a fiend do
Fire I get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the steets fool
Money is an issue - and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warmin, I can buy with the fizzle
And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you ain't makin a dime (ha ha!)
Cuz I got, sh*t to lose - a nigga out here payin his dues
My baby walkin gotta get him new shoes
It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues
It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!

[Beanie Sigel]
Guess who's bizack?
The warm B. Mizack - a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-Brick
Turn a homer from a half a brick, look I mastered this
You can smell it once the plastic rips
A hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gas get clicked
You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't hafta pitch
Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Young'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz
And keep ya whole hood on flip - like on box-spring
Pissy Mack and shit, low old box of things
Strictly glassy sh*t - I hug the block like a quart of water
Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
Till like deuce in the mornin, with the old heads
Slangin loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)
Still f**kin with them crack addicts
Still bustin with that black-matic

[Hook]

*whistling till fade*