Talk to me, man (uh-uh)
It's your boy, Young Hov
And if you turn the motherfucking noise up
We can get right into the proceedings this evening
The headphones are distortin', bring it down a lil' bit
Okay
Now, we working with it (uh, uh)
The boy Face up in Baseline, baby (Facemob!)
Welcome to New York City (ugh, ugh, ugh)
It's your boy Young Hov' (yeah, yeah)
Kanye West on the track (woo!)
Chi-Town, what's going on now? (Uh-huh, uh-huh)
Can I talk to y'all for a minute?
Let me talk to y'all for a minute
Just give me a minute of your time, baby
I don't want much (woo!)
Let me talk to these motherfuckers
Uh!
Guess who's bizzack?
You still smelling crack in my clothes
Won't make me have to relapse on these hoes
Take it back out to taxing them roads, when I was huggin' it
Niggas couldn't do none with it, straight from the oven with it
Came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You can blame my old earth
For the shit she instilled in me, still with me, pain plus work
Shit, she made me milk this game for all it's worth
That's right, these niggas can't fuck with me
I'm calling "Guts" every time, drag my nuts every time, homie
We make a great combination, don't we?
Me and the Facemob, every time we face off
Face it, y'all-y'all niggas playin' basic-ball
I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall (woo!)
Homie, I'm in the drop with the AC off
That's why the streets embrace me, dog, I'm so cool!
Guess who's bizzack? Back on the block with them O's
Facemob, Mack Mittens and Hov
Won't make me relapse, back to the block with the four
'Cause this street shit is all I know
From the womb to the tomb, a hot pot, a jar and a spoon
Tryna make me 40 thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rockstars and goons
Plainclothes wanna run in my room (woo)
But nigga, guess who's bizzack? It's your boy, Facemob
Started with an eight ball, gotta get this cake, dog
Give niggas a break? Nah, you know how the game go
Fuck you think I slang for? To go against the grain? (No!)
I'm out here in grind mode, wrapped up in the paper chase
I wanna fuck a fine ho and candy-paint the '88
Don't got no wholesale, 'cause that ain't how I wanna run it
Here, take these five stones, and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta set my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets, fool
Money is an issue, and that's on the fo'-shizzle, my nizzle
Your block warm, and I come by with the fizzle
And make for sure I get to work mines, a car at a time
We go to war, and you ain't making a dime, haha!
'Cause I got shit to lose; a nigga out here paying his dues
My baby walking, gotta get him some shoes
It's a new game brewing, let me give ya the rules
Get out of line and I'ma give ya the blues, ha
It's a new game goin', lemme give you the rules
Get out of line and I'ma give ya the blues, haha (whoa)
Guess who's bizzack? The boy, B-Mizzack (yeah)
AKA Mr. Crack-A-Brick (straight)
Turn a whole one from a half a brick
Look, I mastered this, you can smell it once the plastic rips
A hot plate'll make you swell up if you gasket-clipped
You can make your chips swell up, you don't have to pitch
Play them corners like a safety, watching traffic switch
Young'un, never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz (huh)
And keep your whole hood on flip (uh)
Like old box-spring, pissy mattress shit
No, won't box a thing, strictly blasting shit
I hug the block like quarter-water (uh)
Shit, I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
'Til, like, deuce in the morning
With the old heads (uh), slangin' loose quarters (quarters)
This Philly cat back at it (at it)
Still fucking with them crack addicts, still busting with that black-matic
Guess who's bizzack? Back on the block with them O's
Facemob, Mack Mittens and Hov
Won't make me relapse, back to the block with the four
'Cause this street shit is all I know
