(feat. Redman, Tre)
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[Nas sample: x2]
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This ain't rappin, this is street hop
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Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot
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[Erick Sermon]
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Yeah, Redman uh, E. Sermon, Tre
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[Verse One: Redman]
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Yeah, yo
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I'm Doc, Brick City, know how I rock
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I'm hip-hop, I live up in the rim shop
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I blow out my tires then I buy some mo'
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My car's Ying Yang'n the way it sit LOWW
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A little Anita, a little Vandross
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I got two guns to give you secondhand smoke
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I'm no joke, this ain't Hanna Barbera
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It's the Bricks, Mandela on Anteras
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In my rear mirror, a freak approach
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Knew she wasn't first class cause her bag was Coach
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She was like, "Redman! Buy me boots."
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So I, bought her Timbs, and a army suit
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Nobody want it with Doc, you smell me Duke?
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Front page, smokin L's in The Daily News
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Y'all cats big time, but the tops are turned
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When you in the same realm as, Doc and Serm', yeahhh
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[Chorus: x2]
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"This ain't rappin, this is street hop
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Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot"
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(And if the record is hot say one two) one two (one two)
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[Verse Two: Erick Sermon]
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Yeah, yeah, yo, uhh
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E-Dub in the flesh, no replacement
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I still bring trunk funk from the basement (who are you?)
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Peeeimp MC, my style's mackadocious
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Boy, ask her-on who the dopest
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E - steppin to me, better-a think twice
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I'm nice, the outcome be "The Passion of Christ"
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You get ripped, you ain't equipped to rock with the vandal
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(Yeah) I change your Timberlands to sandals
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Thug MC's, thinkin they hard
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When they walk around the block with 6 bodyguards
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Yo, I'm a big dawg (grrr) you a pup (arf!)
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It's like comparin a car to a truck
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What, you spend dough for airplay when you network
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That ain't fair, that ain't the way the street work
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This is street hop, nuttin about pride
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For you, I'ma keep them ambulances outside, you dig?
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[Chorus]
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[Erick Sermon]
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All them rappers that can't rhyme (can't rhyme)
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What is you doin is a crime
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Sayin that garbage all the time
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{*chk-chk-BOOM*} Word up, yeah
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[Verse Three: Tre]
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That's how I'm livin, still a gangsta, still a pimpin mack
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All around hustler, 9 to 5 flippin crack
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Tryin to stay up out of prison, steady spittin raps
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Not to mention spittin scraps, don't mix your puddy-tat with that
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{*meowww*} Dhark Citi, put it on your map
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Don't ride through without your pistol, put it on your lap
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And I don't look for beef but don't think that I won't attack
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Have you in a coffin momma like, "He don't belong in that"
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You shoulda thought of that before the fact
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Why a (nigga) roll the dice, lose all they money, then they want it back?
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But that's a bunch of crap...
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.. but f'real jyo, don't gamble witcha life, cause ain't no comin back
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[Chorus: repeat to fade]
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-----------------
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Street Hop
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Erick Sermon |