(feat. Lounge Lo, Solomon Childs)



[Lounge Lo]

Ay-yo I talk what I talk, who gon' shut me up?

Why you think of blowin' me up, or blowin' the dutch

Keep a double 4 in the clutch

Staten Island, Lounge Lo

Park Hill Projects, and that's what's up!

Keep it commin', spit fire daddy

And ya'll niggaz is lame, before I go just remember the name

I'm in the hood where they shoot guns by the seconds

You in the hood where they shoot guns indirected

L.O.B.B. see TV, call B.I.

Tell him to tell D.I. to come see me

Wit' a bag of knuckle-head

And who am I to give a fuck about the next man?

Who care if he fuckin' dead

Me, right! Is gon' spaz on ya'll, spaz on ya'll

Got to get my cash on ya'll

I got a brick ta work, I said ya'll can't have none

Ya'll can't have none, plus I got a chick ta work

My  score is nice, don't ask about me twice

Test 3 times, it'll cost ya life

Gotta stripper that'll give ya no ice

Nah'mean?? And the same bitch will clipper ya pipe

Fuck wit me!

Gotta strong circle that'll hurt you, from little babies grown-ups

Plus them outta town niggaz that'll murk you



[Chorus: Remedy]

That's what's happenin', you done had it

Everybody hood got people that ratted

That's what's happenin', ya'll done had it

Everybody hood got people that ratted

 

[Solomon Childs]

You cats is pink on the inside, like dispersement forms 

We played the cell houses, ya'll played in dorms

Professional, international poster kid

Big crimes came wit' big biz

New York's wildest rookie, since Grandmaster Flash

Big boys here now

Slow down you might crash

We rule all cash, and I ain't listenin' to ya'll niggaz

Spit these lines for my niggaz

Stick up game ridiculous

I bust a vein in the microphone

Fell in love with the smell of the sweat on the poem

Blood on my blade, shit on my hands from my knife, humble

But cats don't listen, so why warn em?

Music will have you ?mourning extortem?

New York's divine leaders

I tell a story for em', perform bops

Bring forth wild brothers together in the forum

Spittin' with confidence

I thought I'd double up on em', I thought I'd double up on em'

 

[Chorus]



[Remedy]

There ain't many street kids left

I could say their names in about one breath

I could count your mans on about one hand

Take it from the words of a true man's man

The streets forever talkin', dead men walkin'

Window hawkin', yo the fiends come stalkin'

Ya'll cats had it

It was either him, her, or you

Or somebody you knew that done ratted

The Shaolin, everyone knows everything

It's scary, cut they tongue, shits hairy

The so called mans you got, wanna Lancelot you

And got you in a trance that locked you

Government informants, rat fuckin' bicthes

Tell'tale snitches, 6 foot ditches

Wanna talk about with who and where and what'cha do

And if they told on him, then they'll tell on you

 

[Chorus x2]