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RICK ROSS- LIL WAYNE, YOUNG JEEZY LUXURY TAX (WITH LYRICS) I think we got a problem
Yeahh...
[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]
Big money in this bitch if you (More) I think we got a problem
Yeahh...
[Verse 1: Lil Wayne]
Big money in this bitch if you didn't knew.
Big business minus the business suit.
Even I look in the mirror like is it you,
And I say I must be the hottest if it isn't you.
Stay fresh from my top to my tennis shoes.
New coop, no top, big tennis shoes.
Never slippin, not even on the side of a swimming pool.
We don't get rid of Q,
We get rid of fools.
They said I couldn't play football I was too small.
they say I couldn't play basketball I wasn't tall.
They say I couldn't play baseball at all.
And now everyday of my life I ball.
And they say you ain't great until someone assassinate,
And I feel like M.L.K.
Yeah... I have a dream to be your worst nightmare,
now meet the boss of the cartel.
[Verse 2: Rick Ross]
I'm a sinner not Satan, sitting on Lorenzzes.
And I seem really patient, picture the equation.
People taking pictures and they really getting flagrant.
Flaggin down my spaceship, sergeant sniffin' for a fragrance.
Yayo, Yayo, he wanna sniff the yayo, flying saucer on the hasa
hit the casa just to lay-low.
Make more (money man) that the model for the mob,
Need a blow job my moto, get a model for the job.
Go hard, no job, hustler, no prob, poster,
Nigga what finger f**k you whole squad.
Forty round extenda, flipping for my kin folk
luxury tax on them packs if you didn't know
Bought a new crib, niggas feeling like I hid.
3.2 but I did it for the kids.
More guns than a pawn shop,
Got my whole arm rocked.
Keep the 760 double parked in the wrong spot.
Still huustling...
BOSSS
[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
Yeah... You gotta pay for this,
I remember when I used to pray for this.
This, this is classic,
So this shit you might never see again.
And we taxin, you don't want it nigga leave it then,
And we taxin, you don't want it nigga leave it then.
And we ain't trying to see the pen,
Like a needle in a hay stack we ain't trying to see the pen.
This is a luxury tax.
[Verse 3: Young Jeezy]
(I don't ask them baby I just tax em baby)
(Let's go)
Yeah imagine this,
No imagine that.
Gave me my sack like, good luck getting back.
(Yeah...)
I'm like how the f**k I'm gonna get outta there.
And if I'm not careful,
Leave em the same place they find him there.
And I'm a winner if I make it cross the finish line,
Putting food on the table like it's dinner time.
And this is what you call stereotyping about?
Can you tell me my your dog keep sniffing my car?
Huh? Got the audacity to call me a liar.
So what you got in your trunk?
Oh, just a spare tire.
You niggas talked blow,
While I sold mine.
Like a bad crape, it's locking up in no time.
More time in the kitchen then I spent in the studio,
Gangsta's Paradise and I ain't talking about Coolio.
Can't lie, still addicted to the odor
Got a ice cold Pepsi,
still thinking Coke-Cola.
Hahaha...
[Chorus: Lil Wayne]
[Verse 4: Trick Daddy]
I'm up early in the morning, and I'm dressed in black.
Hold on, every morning I get dressed in black.
While your half ass, nigga my pants sag,
I'm getting money, and my swag and black flagging.
Million dollar status, fully automatic.
Heavy on the henny and even harder on the women.
If it wasn't for rappin,
I probably would pimpin and shit.
Pops, my papai, has already hear me.
Tied trapping, shit sent me to prison,
Got mad and went to snappin so homicide came to visit.
I smell gun powder,
So you got one hour to come up with every damn dollar,
Or your dun-dolla.
It cost a ball dogg,
Especially when the players on your team,
Consider you as the ball hog.
You treat me like Shaq,
And you Kobe but I didn't say you owe me nigga.
But act like you know me nigga. (Less)
Nasty Nas Escobar - The Message- Né à Long Island, New York, fils du trompettiste Olu Dara Jones, Nasir connaît (More) Né à Long Island, New York, fils du trompettiste Olu Dara Jones, Nasir connaît une enfance éloignée de la tutelle scolaire puisqu'il s'en écarte prématurément au stade de la 4ème. Dans la rue, il apprend avec son groupe Devastatin' Seven ce qu'il appelle les "street mathematics", soit le rap, qu'il perfectionne dans le but de rendre sa technique "illmatic" (épatante, folle, fantastique). Ses lectures favorites l'amènent à connaître l'histoire de l'Egypte ancienne, les sourates du Coran, les versets de la Bible, la culture occidentale du XVIIIe siècle et les projets migratoires de Marcus Garvey. Très jeune, il participe à des concours de rap où il rencontre les légendes new-yorkaises, toujours ses aînées, Big Daddy Kane, Rakim, Kool G Rap. Il se fait un point d'honneur tout particulier à citer dans ses improvisations son quartier, dont il veut rétablir le statut, caduc depuis le retour à l'anonymat du rappeur MC Shan. Les chansons de Nas sont toutes habitées par cette culture composite et commune à tant de rappeurs où rap, religion, société et nationalisme noir sont mêlés. <br /> <br />Pour autant, les thèmes qu'il y développe sont moins un reflet exact des événements de son adolescence que l'expression répétée et lancinante des préoccupations qui l'ont trituré durant cette période. Ainsi ses chansons abordent, pour 90% d'entre elles, des sujets attenants à celui de la petite criminalité et du grand banditisme, faisant de Nas un chantre du brigandage à New York bien que, ne s'étant jamais affilié à un clan particulier (si ce n'est son quartier, Queensbridge), le MC n'est pas, à proprement considérer, un gangsta rapper. Partant de ce postulat, il est nécessaire de discuter la croyance selon laquelle il y aurait séparation nette entre le "Nasty" Nas, prétendu civique de Illmatic (1994) et le personnage de Nas "Escobar" qui vit le jour lors de la composition de It Was Written (1996). Cette opposition a souvent servi d'argument à tous ses dénigreurs, disant regretter le rappeur des débuts. Dans N.Y. State Of Mind (Illmatic), Nas compare pourtant l'ampleur de sa notoriété à celle d'un célèbre arriviste cubain joué par Al Pacino dans le film de Brian De Palma, opérant par là même un rapprochement entre son écriture et les stupéfiants (leur fabrication, leur recel). <br /> <br />"Je suis comme quand Scarface sniffe de la coke <br />Et porte un M-16, vois-tu, je suis un extrémiste du style (…) <br />Vous me connaissez tous que mon son passe ou non à la radio <br />J'ai mon stock d'E&J, assis défoncé dans les escaliers (…) <br />Je fais des rêves où je suis un gangster qui boit du Moët, tient des flingues <br />Je m'assure que l'argent rentre puis je décampe <br />Investir dans les stocks, règner sur les quartiers pour vendre la came <br />Sortir vainqueur de fusillades contre de super flics (…) <br />Je ne suis pas le genre de frère qu'il faut que tu t'amuses à provoquer <br />Donne-moi un Smith & Wesson et les gars se déshabillent à ma vue (..) <br />Je rêve pouvoir confortablement m'asseoir <br />et me relaxer style Capone, plein de combines pour écouler la drogue (..) <br />J'ai tellement de rimes que je ne dois pas être très sain". <br /> <br />Loin d'être fraîchement nouveau, ce procédé que du reste avait inauguré, rapologiquement parlant, Grand Master Flash dans The Message (et qui confirme l'idée souvent défendue que Nas est l'un des rappeurs les plus old school de la new school), est à mettre en lumière en ce qu'il contredit complètement la conjecture bien répandue de l'avilissement tardif du rappeur. En outre, il montre que, déjà, la poésie de Nas était le lieu d'expression privilégié de ses fantasmes d'ascension sociale, dont le trafic et le crime apparaîtront toujours à ses yeux comme les chemins privilégiés. Nas n'a donc pas été, originairement, le modèle de probité que beaucoup se figurent. <br /> <br /> <br />Texte grace à l'aimable contribution de Reek <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />"The Message" <br /> <br />Fake thug, no love, you get the slug, CB4 Gusto <br />Your luck low, I didn't know til I was drunk though <br />You freak niggaz played out, get fucked and ate out <br />Prostitute turned bitch, I got the gauge out <br />96 ways I made out, Montana way <br />The Good-F-E-L-L-A, verbal AK spray <br />Dipped attache, jumped out the Range, empty out the ashtray <br />A glass of 'ze make a man Cassius Clay <br />Red dot plots, murder schemes, thirty-two shotguns <br />Regulate wit my Dunn's, 17 rocks gleam from one ring <br />Yo let me let y'all niggaz know one thing <br />There's one life, one love, so there can only be one King <br />The highlights of livin, Vegas style roll dice in linen <br />Antera spinnin on Milleniums, twenty G bets I'm winnin them <br />Threats I'm sendin them, Lex with TV sets the minimum <br />Ill sex adrenaline <br />Party with villians, a case of Demi-Sec to chase the Henny <br />Wet any clique, with the semi-tech who want it <br />Diamonds I flaunt it, chickenheads flock I lace em <br />Fried broiled with basil, taste em, crack the legs <br />way out of formation, it's horizontal how I have em <br />fuckin me in the Benz wagon <br />Can it be Vanity from Last Dragon <br />Grab your gun it's on though <br />Shit is grimy, real niggaz buck in broad daylight <br />with the broke Mac it won't spray right <br />Don't give a fuck who they hit, as long as the drama's lit <br />Yo, overnight thugs, bug cause they ain't promised shit <br />Hungry-ass hooligans stay on that piranha shit <br /> <br />[Chorus: samples from "New York State of Mind" (repeat 4X)] <br /> <br />"I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death" -> [Nas] <br />"I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin" -> [Nas] <br /> <br />[Nas] <br />I peeped you frontin, I was in the Jeep <br />Sunk in the seat, tinted with heat, beats bumpin <br />Across the streat you was wildin <br />Talkin bout how you ran the Island in eighty-nine <br />Layin up, playin the yard with crazy shine <br />I cocked a baby 9 that nigga grave be mine, clanked him <br />What was he thinkin on my corner when it's pay me time <br />Dug em you owe me cousin somethin told me plug him <br />So dumb, felt my leg burn, then it got numb <br />Spun around and shot one, heard shots and dropped son <br />Caught a hot one, somebody take this biscuit 'fore the cops come <br />Then they came askin me my name, what the fuck <br />I got stitched up and went through <br />Left the hospital that same night, what <br />Got my gat back, time to backtrack <br />I had to drop so how the fuck I get clapped <br />Black was in the Jeep watchin all these scenes speed by <br />It was a brown Datsun, and yo nobody in my hood got one <br />That clown nigga's through, blazin at his crew daily <br />The 'Bridge touched me up severely hear me? <br />So when I rhyme it's sincerely yours <br />Be lightin L's sippin Coors, on all floors in project halls <br />Contemplatin war niggaz I was cool with before <br />We used to score together, Uptown coppin the raw <br />But uhh, a thug changes, and love changes <br />and best friends become strangers, word up <br /> <br />[Chorus: first from "New York State of Mind", then "Halftime" (repeat 4X)] <br /> <br />"Y'all know my steelo" -> [Nas] <br />"There ain't an army that could strike back" -> [Nas] <br /> <br />[Nas] <br />Thug niggaz <br />Yo, to them thug niggaz gettin it on in the world you know? <br />To them niggaz that's locked down <br />doin they thing survivin yaknowmsayin? <br />To my thorough niggaz, New York and world wide <br />Yo to the Queensbridge Militia <br />9-6 shit.. The Firm clique, Illmatic nigga <br />It Was Written though <br />It's been a long time comin <br />Y'all fake niggaz, tryin to copy <br />better come with the real though <br />Fake ass niggaz yo.. <br />(They throw us slugs we throwin em back, what?) <br />Bring the shit man, live man <br />(Fuck that son) <br />Nine-six shit.. <br /> (Less)
Henny-M-Stay With Me- ILFR022 -WEB-2009-UKHx 
2009-11-03 - extension: zip - size: 85 MB
Henny-M-Stay With Me- ILFR022 -WEB-2009-UKHx
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