Oh, you a thug now? ‘Cause you involved in gunplay
Wifey acting funny like the bus on Sunday
Wanna make a U-turn? Dummy, this is one-way
Yo, that’s your man? Hmm, I think he’s gay
You thought you was tough like them guys who robbed you
Fronting like you sell drugs, you know you got a job, duke
Always ice-grilling, fucking up the barbeque, fronting
With your boys like, «That's the murder-drama crew.» It’s chumps
Like you that give us a bad name, telling my Life’s story in your weak/week rap game. I know
You was watching me. I used to see you peep. You was
So interested. Why you ain’t never sleep? It’s deep
It goes back to childhood in the streets. You was
Lying ‘bout pussy, beating your meat. Imagi-
-nary friends, things you did, places you be. Basic-
-ally, you the same thing that gave birth to me (Pussy, pussy)
You ain’t
A thug. (You just acting bugged) ‘cause you
Want a hug from shorty, (but she don’t got love). And when you
Got slugged, she said, («It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man.») Pink. You ain’t
A thug. (You just acting bugged) ‘cause you
Want a hug from shorty, (but she don’t got love). And when you
Got slugged, she said, («It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man. Why’d you fuck him up?»)
All the
Thugs I know is really into calmness while y’all
Wanna walk by and scream, «Onyx!» Boxing
Oxygen, making gunshot noises
Talking to yourself like you really hear voices. You
Thugs is killing me. I only fear God. You think you
Look tough? In my eyes, you got on leotards. Keep
Playing the role, yeah, get your head bent ‘cause you
So pussy, you could get pregnant. It’s
Sad. You act like your gun blast math, but you the
Same one that used to get hurt for your bus pass. It ain’t
2Pac, four. Y’all just followers. Thanks to Ja Rule, we got a whole bunch of «Hollarers,» dollar-
-borrowers, gold chain gossipers, Acade-
-my Award killers who deserve Oscars. Y’all ain’t
‘Bout it, but since your fronting got no limit, I see the
Future—wait, you about to die in a minute
You ain’t
A thug. (You just acting bugged) ‘cause you
Want a hug from shorty, (but she don’t got love). And when you
Got slugged, she said, («It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man. Why’d you fuck him up?») Pink. You ain’t
A thug. (You just acting bugged) ‘cause you
Want a hug from shorty, (but she don’t got love). And when you
Got slugged, she said, («It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man. Why’d you fuck him up?»)
You need a Whole borough, black, to fight one thorough cat. You wasn’t
Broke and hungry—that ain’t why you started selling crack. You’re a Clown. You wanted to be down to sound gritty
Your life was inspired by New Jack City, King of New
York, Mobb Deep, DMX, and Biggie
I’m tired of you cowards. I’ll fuck you up! Menti-
-roso. You know, in jail, you was butt. You wasn’t
Manito. Uribe then stuck you up. Real
Volcanoes don’t smoke—they just erupt. No Phone calls for you. They would have cut you, plus you
Suck. No, really. You suck
Bulletproof vest, man? You need D-cups
And just like this song, you’re funny, son. Woke up In your cell, laying next to Snickers and honeybuns. You just
Wanted attention like a live Giga Pet, so to Look the look, you started smoking cigarettes. You never
Used to puff weed, true indeed, ‘til you heard Boot
Camp. Now it’s like, «Yo, what up with the trees?» They’re in a Forest—same place your corpse gon' be ‘cause
Fantasy never brings L-O-V-E
You ain’t
A thug. (You just acting bugged) ‘cause you
Want a hug from shorty, (but she don’t got love). And when you
Got slugged, she said, («It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man. Why’d you fuck him up?»)
(You just acting bugged)
(But she don’t got love)
(«It must be drugs. That ain’t my)
(Man»)
Come on, man. You ain’t no goddamn thugs. «But she not in the streets.
«Why everybody gotta be from the streets. Y’all playing from the sidewalks,
y’all living in the streets where the cars at. Come off this, please. Haaa.
I be sighing. It’s hot. C-Rayz, I’m out of here. I want my money for this