| RICH BRING 'EM BACK |
| R. Lawson, P. Nash Produced by Prime Minister Pete Nice & Daddy Rich Recorded and Mixed by Rich Keller at LGK Studios and Chung King Studios, NY, NY Performed by Pete Nice ft Cage Contains samples of the following: Unknown |
| Verse 1 |
| Check it 1-2, check it, undercover as I wreck it Liver than a limb on a cripple, but still I rep it The voodoo master, last of the Mohicans Tomahawkin heads for my peeps that I be freaking Despicable, I hit you with the quick blow Stick you with the hypodermic lyric in your blood flow I reanimated the chip off your shoulder Stick it up your ass, now you're the holder of a boulder Mo' money folder, from the streets soldier Flippin it on the 1-2, I twist, ya then I roll ya I move on the DL, conceal like a smuggler Peepin out the process, and then I go for jugular A misdirected man with the taste to be prolific The person and the verbs that are droppin and I'm lifted So Rich, bring em back from the borough of the Brooklyn Folding all the dough like a hooker who be hookin |
| Verse 2 |
| Who's that, the master of the ill flow Heard him on a mix show, vocabs and lingo I'm flippin around a dollar boy, I'm a check Bobbito And then I get my dose, and I'm out to sleep Benito Full of bigger bats in my belfry because I'm Edgar Alan Poe, like This and like that and eh - please grab my dick right My funk like the Groove Merchant label representin Daddy Rich bringin em back, stingin em like a henchman So step, cause you never, never fuck with me hops Sippin on a 40 as I listen to the dreadnots What's that, you thought you got the heartbeat But yo, I got misery for you and your punks, see If I took three punks I do em like Chuckie doin Queens Suckin on a steel, got em shittin out the beans So Rich, bring em back, so we can smack em up Yo, the track's the shit, so yo, I pick the slack up |
| Verse 3: Cage |
| My cuts are hell! Leave a hooker strung up by the ankles Stripped in meaty chunks, all that dangles is they bangles From a certain angle she's resembling my momma I'm in it for the trauma, no comma can force my bomber I Timberland my limbs when I stick vics in My kids are fistful of maggots ain't even my sickest habit Blood spat in my chest, flesh between my teeth I feast like I'm a vulture, destined cannibal culture So check this, you get to be another dead miss or mister With the pistol up inside your sister's belly The master of a million molestings believe you try and breathe and I'm a blast your ass to jelly I swear, with everybody's life on my career That if my family was burning only joy would push out tears Leave me all alone up in the attic, I got an automatic with three caps and two money for static With my father, my mother, the last one for the other On the side of me, two of my little sisters say good-bye to me BLAST! I'm burning in the middle of the Earth Got no self-worth, I'm dragging pussies out ahead of birth No retribution, miss my execution You sucking out the douche bags hoses used for douching Could wait to bite my way free from out the muzzle piece Spit blood in my 40, waste no ducats so I guzzle it Strive to stay alive and I thrive on humans screaming Got the semen of a demon, mom dukes is so demeaning Can't wait to spatter my bladder from all the drinking No play fair, your bloodstains be in my sink and Two rats is acting me deaf, don't be a fact to me The misses gets a hysterectomy for disrespecting me Fiddle with a spell until my grandfather fell Swell, I'm looking forward to burning in hell |