Art And Life Lyrics

Art And Life lyrics

(Intro: Young Chris)

Yeah...
Young Chris, M-E's, Free-Wheez... Tha boy
Twista...
Holla...

My life on tha track... (Okay...),
Up and
comin'... State Prop...
Check game... (That's right...),
Get low... (Get
low...),

It's tha Roc...
Better than ever
(Holla)...
Yeah...

It's tha motherfuckin' Roc bitch, you hotter than
us?

(Okay, okay)

(Young Chris)
Ever since a young buck, I been
on tha come up,
Known to dish tha raw, dish tha law if they come up,
And
cheddar 'till tha sun up...
If there's a ransom and tha law get involved,
then we never get it summed up,
Never put ya gun up, if ya come round
me,
I go to war wit' niggas 'round tha corner from 'round me,
You can
front 'round me, but I read through that,
Wit' tha mili' and I ain't talkin'
'bout no Segal mac,
Niggas see shoot back, we can see to that,
Hit yo
front letters see through back, bring yo peoples back,
And I used to grind
out on my friends spot, 'till he's mom wanted my Tim-bots,
Now my paint got
me discounts, or trans-quo all around tha world, like I was signed to
Pimp-dot,
And if it's ten targets and I got ten shots,
I'm tryin' to
leave at least hit nine out of them ten shot...

(Memphis Bleek)
I got
my mind on my money, money on mind,
But some say its a gift, I don't write
but I rhyme,
I, complete songs with just one try,
Tell 'em it's no lie, I
(beef?) all my life dogg, I never think, it's already there,
I find ways to
say-it, so you motherfuckers hear-it,
And when you hear it you feel it, you
know its real (so...),
This is how I live it, how its pictured for real,
(nigga...),
I'm shittin for real...
Diamonds against wood, underground
king for real,
Big crib when I lay, yeah I'm livin' for real,
Trust me
tha guns come off tha shelf whenever shit'll get real,
Automatics and tha
extended clips, that's what I'm hittin' wit',
Dummies in tha black
rhinoes,
(Yeah...) They be killin' shit,
Mask up kidnap shit, that's how
my niggas get,
Chi-town, NYC, that's how my niggas
get...

(Freeway)
Yes, just picture me rollin',
Tha smith and
wesson'll stay goin' put a hole in yo chest,
It's just, another hustle paper
gettin' made and fold ya,
Mad, you street niggas finally made it,
I swoop
five, he know tha ride, heavily loaded,
Deliver pies like cake, they go
straight through yo payment, (Yup...),
Chump... You don't really wanna
war,
With tha State Prop clique, if ya clique shot us, (Why us...?),
S-P
game so damn tough, tha 4 4 in tha 5th tucked ya'll cant hang,
Transporter
turned rapper, get a can for to fill my life,
Still acclompished, wanna fill
they cups?
Tha rap version of Mandela call my bluff,
Well still tha street
dwellers feel my pain (My pain...),
I spit a verse and split a clip in tha
rain,
A fool-proof when tha full force open you
(What...?),

(Twista)
Twista will rock you, you don't want tha thug
apostle to pop you,
Hostile when I drop you, turnin' everything colossal to
fossiles,
I speak street gospel, all they life I spit words and paint
portraits,
For real niggas that hold down they fortress and serve off of
porches,
Hit 'em in tha body wit' tha powerful forces, that'll end all your
data,
Make you clean up your house, bag up an ounce, hit tha dance floor and
bounce,
We blessed wit' tha talent, fuck wit this clique, it ain't gon' be
easy,
'Cuz you fuckin' wit' Twist if you fuck wit Chris, Bleek and
Free-wheezy,
So speak and breath easy... Or tha scutche's my future in
3D,
I like whore's, I'm from a city full of vice, lords, and GD's,
Breeze
and souls, 2-6's, kings, BD's & Stones,
Spanish cobras and all tha true
soldiers survivin' are gone,
Watch me spit if for tha killers and hustler's,
flippin' all tha pounds and bricks,
Hate on me I'ma bust at you hoes, and I
put eleven down wit' a clip,
Niggas servin' fiftys and hundreds, when I see
you and I'm on yo tip,
Twista and (....?)