Rules We Live By

Lord Finesse

    Continues after the ad

    [ Fat Joe ]
    What
    What
    Yeah
    Diggin' In The Crates
    Terror Squad
    We the best at this
    Everybody stealin our style, stealin our flows
    Stealin our beats
    Feedin off of us
    All these fake rappers in the rap game
    So-called rappers
    What

    [ CHORUS: Armageaddon (2X) ]
    Yo, real niggas use what they pull out, hold up, start a shoot out
    Black out, cool out, then they back out
    Daily routine, stompin fiends in they spleen, no shorts
    Ill like Chinatown gangsters, extort the sea port

    [ VERSE 1: Armageaddon ]
    Aluminum-crush a coco, rockin stolen gold of Africa
    Ill, dressed to kill, a Navy massacre
    United Nations-sized slinky Benz, lookin like ambassadors
    King off a roundtable, Glock 9 as calibers
    Kidnap a senator, free the Rikers Islanders
    Tell a Sicilian he got nigga in his blood, no jive
    Terror Squad possessed by the souls of dead Comanche tribes
    Scalp em, scrape em and rape em, repossess Plymouth Rock
    Ménage à trois with gogo bitches twice to split on my cock
    Fire spark the hydro, burn a bush without the pyro
    Blessed be the only saint I know exist in the Bible
    What if God was one of us, downin mo' liqor and dust
    A stranger sellin drugs duckin TNT bust
    Comin through like an army of nigga rocker gorilla men
    Terror Squad legacy live the next millennium
    Iron curtain-styled tanks, gruesome shit that make mother faint
    That ain't no color paint, ( ? )
    New York electrocute, Mississippi don't shoot
    Tie his neck to a maple, hang him, strange fruit

    Continues after the ad

    [ CHORUS ]

    [ VERSE 2: Lord Finesse ]
    I be the all eye seeing (no doubt) supreme being
    Nigga geein, playin celo, rollin demons
    Forever schemin, I make it hot like Phoenix
    A street genius, never thinks with his penis
    I be the meanest, authentic, afrocentric
    In it to win it, I don't talk it, I represent it
    The sky's the limit, from the beginning to the ending
    Can't knock the hustle especially when the next man's winnin
    If money makes the world go round I have it spinnin
    Chillin in linen, keepin it real, no pretendin
    Never-endin, mind-bendin, stay aimin
    I don't player-hate, I simply make others just quit playin
    Know what I'm sayin, I'm out to get stacks
    I hit chicks with the dick that make dykes wanna switch back
    Can you dig that, you got game, money, lounge
    I pull bitches like cars (How's that?) No money down

    [ CHORUS ]

    [ VERSE 3: Fat Joe ]
    You better slide or catch this homicide
    Ain't no match for Joey Crack, I'm blowin backs out the other side
    Brothers died and mothers cried at wakes
    These are the breaks, Kurtis-Blow your head off like jake
    So take heed and read between the lines
    Ain't no geein mines, player-haters never wanna see me shine
    Up in the Range or in the Lex Coupe
    Rockin a fresh suit with dress shoes on my way to let's booze
    Let's choose what life you rather live
    On the streets stabbin kids or livin mad sweet in lavish cribs
    Fix marriages for my kids, six carats on my whiz
    Exotic talkin parrots on my wrist
    It ain't shit but sex, money and drugs
    True thugs bust slugs and pack bodies and bust
    What the fuck, Joey Crack twist your cap back
    Leave your heart rate flat once Terror Squad attacks

    [ CHORUS ]

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