(feat. Redman, Tre)



[Nas sample: x2]

This ain't rappin, this is street hop

Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot



[Erick Sermon]

Yeah, Redman uh, E. Sermon, Tre



[Verse One: Redman]

Yeah, yo

I'm Doc, Brick City, know how I rock

I'm hip-hop, I live up in the rim shop

I blow out my tires then I buy some mo'

My car's Ying Yang'n the way it sit LOWW

A little Anita, a little Vandross

I got two guns to give you secondhand smoke

I'm no joke, this ain't Hanna Barbera

It's the Bricks, Mandela on Anteras

In my rear mirror, a freak approach

Knew she wasn't first class cause her bag was Coach

She was like, "Redman!  Buy me boots."

So I, bought her Timbs, and a army suit

Nobody want it with Doc, you smell me Duke?

Front page, smokin L's in The Daily News

Y'all cats big time, but the tops are turned

When you in the same realm as, Doc and Serm', yeahhh



[Chorus: x2]

"This ain't rappin, this is street hop

Now get up off yo' (ass) like yo' seats hot"

(And if the record is hot say one two) one two (one two)



[Verse Two: Erick Sermon]

Yeah, yeah, yo, uhh

E-Dub in the flesh, no replacement

I still bring trunk funk from the basement (who are you?)

Peeeimp MC, my style's mackadocious

Boy, ask her-on who the dopest

E - steppin to me, better-a think twice

I'm nice, the outcome be "The Passion of Christ"

You get ripped, you ain't equipped to rock with the vandal

(Yeah) I change your Timberlands to sandals

Thug MC's, thinkin they hard

When they walk around the block with 6 bodyguards

Yo, I'm a big dawg (grrr) you a pup (arf!)

It's like comparin a car to a truck

What, you spend dough for airplay when you network

That ain't fair, that ain't the way the street work

This is street hop, nuttin about pride

For you, I'ma keep them ambulances outside, you dig?



[Chorus]



[Erick Sermon]

All them rappers that can't rhyme (can't rhyme)

What is you doin is a crime

Sayin that garbage all the time

{*chk-chk-BOOM*} Word up, yeah



[Verse Three: Tre]

That's how I'm livin, still a gangsta, still a pimpin mack

All around hustler, 9 to 5 flippin crack

Tryin to stay up out of prison, steady spittin raps

Not to mention spittin scraps, don't mix your puddy-tat with that

{*meowww*} Dhark Citi, put it on your map

Don't ride through without your pistol, put it on your lap

And I don't look for beef but don't think that I won't attack

Have you in a coffin momma like, "He don't belong in that"

You shoulda thought of that before the fact

Why a (nigga) roll the dice, lose all they money, then they want it back?

But that's a bunch of crap...

.. but f'real jyo, don't gamble witcha life, cause ain't no comin back



[Chorus: repeat to fade]