90's Flow - Dj Kay Slay, Fat Joe, Ghostface Killah

Can’t nobody stop my flow

Yo, yo yo yo, ah

I rep New York way above the rest

Whippin' the double R, knockin' Crooklyn’s best

Fuck all you hoes, get a grip, motherfucker

If mines don’t shoot ya, Pistol P gon cut ya

Slay hit me up, said he the black Fat Joe again

So I pull a mask, grab the straps, now I’m going in

Mind on my money, and money bring the problems

See my nine never funny, wasn’t laughing when I shot him

Summertime in the city where the bodies drop

Your enemies’ll throw a party like it’s Mardi Gras

Nigga I’m right here, you know right where

BX, New York, Polos and Nike Airs

I’m liable to bring a lion to a dogfight

Reliable to push the iron on an off night

Slay got the streets locked, Mello got the Garden packed

Told him, «Thirteen for the half» and he brought it back

It’s not a game, this is not a show

We do it up for the money cause it’s all we know

So go and tell your folks, can’t nobody stop my flow

Yo, yo, you would think I’m in a laundry mat, powder everywhere

One blink like poof, I’m in Times Square

With a dime, yeah, she fuckin' with a crime bear

Named stuck like a blind dare

Y’all make sure y’all fix the G

Don’t want nothin' crooked around here 'less a crook schemin' on me

Together we live, forever I burn

With an antibiotic flow, controlling y’all germs

Medellin crop dog cartel

I’m Roger Moore in the double-0 suite sippin' Martell

'86 Giant, you can ask Parcell

Raided niggas' flats, grey and black R shell

Put your ear to the speaker, this is rap Easter

Snatched niggas' eggs and shit, bone ya senorita

Large Glocks, mortgage is fifteen in three spots

Interest is too far, you can’t eavesdrop

You can’t sneeze, ock

Got the Slomin’s shell system high power, look, hidden in the trees, hop

Hop over my gate, I come out blazing

And a nigga stay in a rage so I ain’t grazing

Haulin' sharks snorkels, Russian hats

Cooling in Amsterdam, the windchill factor is a wrap

My telescope solid gold, the dresser is clear

Stuntin' magazine and some gear

We clear on how to cook, rhyme and sling

Most of my blings is auctioned, now I’m in a sweatsuit in the rain

Forbes horse smell of her fragrance, maxing in France

Harry Winston made a belt for my pants

A hundred for the necklace, two hundred on the watch

That’s infectious, your money ain’t pure, I can’t protect this

You live in the trenches, wrangling the Sprint bus

Guns is under the loveseat with the dumb dust

Pump one, pump 'em all, pass the suitcase with the blue faces

Rubber band wrapped in shoelaces

Yeah I can’t call it, it’s just living, I orbit

Shit is so hard, don’t gotta talk it

I wore shiny suits with Puff, did freestyles with B.I.G

Made Reservoir with Hov and I’m back, my nig'

G-G-Graveyard flow, I show you how to dig

Half of that boy or a ki of that Lindsay

Dropped the EP now New York is in a frenzy

Been waiting on the LOX, these lil' niggas rappin' like they 12

So I guess they waiting on they pops

O-Old nigga, new nigga need to know this

Ain’t none of y’all fuckin' with me, Styles and Kiss

This ain’t beef, this lyrical sparring

Beef is when I’m sitting in the garage you parked your car in

Still go out on the block, get high, give goons a dap

With you, it’s only when you rap

Put the gun down pussy, who the fuck you gon clap?

Get the fuck out the game

If you wasn’t hot last year, '14 gon be the goddamn same, nigga

It’s not a game, this is not a show

We do it up for the money cause it’s all we know

So go and tell your folks, can’t nobody stop my flow

You already know, Slay, I got you baby, uh

I’d love to get a Grammy and eventually will

Right now, my main focus letting them centuries build

Bentley for real jade red, haters want me dead

But the Lord want me living, fuck prison, I’m in position

Tip top condition, listen, I’m on my toes

Get pussy on the reg', got no time for these hoes

Half these niggas rap comedy shows, cold blooded punks

Don’t wan' shoot it out, don’t wan' dump

I expose niggas who forty and lived through one story, doggy

Ain’t in the gang with me, my killers came with me

Watching everything shifty

I was trained to lay down that murder game, kick dirt on my name

First the flame hit your brain, aim like Saddam Hussein

Give it to any nigga, any terrain

Fuck what niggas sayin', man, I’m tryna maintain, nigga

Yeah, I’m tryna maintain

Aiyyo, since '96, came in the game, no tricks

'98, Violator shit with Eric Nicks

Rest in peace Chris, we piss glamorous conglomerate

Still Islam-in' it, real niggas honor it

I used to fuck with hoes that blow cock then they vibe with it

Swank wore a good belt, Lord, we on the board

Was raised to protect my moms

Deuce-deuce bust through the triple fat goose

Army Fatigue pants, TEC bust loose, still smoke tree plants

Killer on the Goose, Ray Bands

Vaporizing hemp

Sprinkle the Deutch, them shit niggas, they

And now my town wanna fuckin' sound like my fuckin' town though

I’m with that shit, that’s my shit, I’m Rambo

Fuck it, and I ain’t gon' tell them niggas suck my dick

But if they hating on this, well tell 'em, «Suck my dick»

It’s not a game, this is not a show

We do it up for the money cause it’s all we know

So go and tell your folks, can’t nobody stop my flow

Brrr, uh

First of all, I’m a underdog, I don’t like none of y’all

Winter, spring, summer, fall, I keep a gunner, dawg

The spirit of Guru, it ain’t something to y’all

Biggie Smalls, Big Pun and Big L to y’all

That’s everything that you lack in your lyrics

My flow is the results of the crack epidemic (Huh)

Dirty burners baby (Yeah) murder murder baby (Yeah)

You shooting baby powder (Yeah) you a Gerber baby

Nothing to fuck with, known for the thug shit

Street certified, hood notary republic (Am I wrong?)

You are now tuned into the Drama Hour

blammers out, dusty nines allowed

I’m from out of New York with gats and load

Guns and roses like Axel Rose (Nigga)

You say subliminal shit but you ain’t saying no names

Don’t fuck with me, I ain’t playing no games

Yo, yo, tremendous career, the legacy of

A dirty little New Yorker they want done

Locked in the cage, shot in the face

The fall from grace in this hip-hop thang

But music shoot through my veins

My target locked in my brain, and I won’t fall

My heart is too passionate to give y’all

The satisfaction to see me all

Broke and fucked up, all that there won’t be none of

Image that, it’s not happening

This is my dream, my dream

Dreams, niggas tryna take my dreams

It seems, you wanna poke holes

In my coffin and just know it’s a waste of time

It can’t be done

My shit made of titanium and you soft like pillows

It’s not a game, this is not a show

We do it up for the money cause it’s all we know

So go and tell your folks, can’t nobody stop my flow