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Album:
Ugodz-illa Presents - The Hillside Scramblers (2004)
[Intro: INF-Black]
Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?
Uh-huh, all my live niggas, Friday...
Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?
[INF-Black]
I'm in the hood like weed and crack
Best believe I'm the hood and I ain't far from my gat
Was taught to hold it down, and never slack on my mack
Same niggas you give pounds, be those niggas that rat
The bullshit, you got a deal, momma told me react
I'm from a part of town, that's real, where you can't relax
Shots dumpin', always somethin', get your head piece cracked
The block jumpin', stay pumpin', these buildings is where it's at
These buildings is where I stack, brought out the INF-Black
Rather get caught in the act, then caught dead in your back, so chill (chill)
If peace was an option, I'm still plottin'
Nobody's untouchable, keep your p's when it's coppin'
Breeze when I'm cockin', or freeze and get boxed in
So many m.c.'s on they knees, now they plead when they coppin'
My live state rockin', fresh, and still grindin'
Time after time and my homies, I'm still ridin'
[Chorus 2XNULL-Black]
Ya'll haters coudln't ride with me
Couldn't get down like me, get high like me
Competition's like a robbery, it's easy to see
Yo, put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?
[HookNULL-Black]
Go bang, when I'm jumpin' the gun
Have ya'll bitch ass niggas run
It go bang, that's the sound of the thang
That's the sound of the thang...
[INF-Black]
I ain't talkin' like I can't slip, or get clipped
But I'm on point like my outfit matchin' my kicks
I'm cockin' this fifth, faggot niggas all on my dick
With a heart full of fire, I ain't givin' an inch
Take my kindness for weakness, ain't life a bitch
Staten Isle's best secret'll run up in your shit
Like I ain't never been pinched, took a blow over some dough
I slap a hole in the 'fro for sniffin' my blow, it's real
Park Hill's where I'm from, where killas load guns
And take funds, huggin' the trigger
Shot pumps in your Hilfiger, on the block for this cheddar
Hold cracks in sweaters, next to foreign counterfeiters
Yeah, I loved a lot of niggas, but lot of niggas I stop lovin'
It's me or them, so fuck 'em (fuck 'em) ....
[Chorus 2X]
[INF-Black]
I'm livin' proof, nigga, listen
More jewels than Q when he killed Bishop, play the role or be the victim
Time's tickin', my hand's itchin', I'm hot in the kitchen
Any condition, I'm street, son, I'm plottin' the mission
Choppin' the raw, I'll break it off, through my addition
It's gonna be friction, I keep the half-sawed, it's real
Push my limit, catch an ass whippin', son, I aint' missin'
Two two for the club and a nine for the waistline
Get it all, it's fine, just like your bitch, can't wait to taste mine
Graze spines for yards and I break the bassline
Hold it down with my squad, move hard as county lines, run that
I'm your car, wouldn't call it a crime
My rubber gripped chrome nine, keep ya'll hoes in line
Treat you like old pussy, cuz I'll fuck you when I want
Gut you out like a turkey and I'll stuff you a blunt, chump
Have you in emergency, for tryin' to Hummer stunt
[Chorus 2X]
[BridgeNULL-Black]
Nigga run that....
Give up your chain and your watch and your glock'll go click clack
I ain't playin', what I'm sayin', throw these hollows in your six pack
Don't have me pop, don't move, nigga, I ain't try'nna hear that
Niggas know I won't hesitate to put your fuckin' shit back
[InterludeNULL-Black]
Yeah, INF-Black, Hillside Scramblers, it
[Hook]
[OutroNULL-Black]
Muthafuckas, toast to that, nigga
Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?...
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U-god -
Stick Up lyrics.
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