CRU

CRU - Nuthin' But lyrics

rate me

(feat. Black Rob)

[Black Rob]

Aiyo I'm just lottin thru cuz I finished with that booty call

Green Acres more, lot and Queens had it all

Got the beat from my man Big Stan 50 Grand

Rhythem Blunt Cru, Black Rob in demand

[Chadeeo]

Mic check one, and the mic check two

Rhythem Blunt Cru runs thru you like the flu

Fuck ya whole shop up and inside

Leave ya jaw to the floor, eyes open wide

[Yogi]

Loungin in my crib upon, now in 12 floor

Lo-Lo wit the ham come knockin at my door

She sell glock shells by the sea shore

Payin for the guests on that big ass boat

[Black Rob]

Yo kids I'm takin no shorts, back and forth like a meter

Play it crazy, ballin see ya, park dark black Adidas

Art shines, cuz I'm double, Spanish honies say Roberto

Fuck that, I buck that bitch nigga from your borough

[Chadeeo]

Well lyrical gats, at the smalls of my back

In facts, I pack extras up in my napsacks

Greenbacks, let me layin back and relax

Gainin riches, bitches just by kickin the mere fact

[Yogi]

Nigga I can make ya speaker shake

Make ya break, now ya upstate gettin raped

While I'm home makin hits

That smokin so much weed that I start hearin shit

Interlude: Yogi (Chadeeo)

Aiyo, fuck is that shit yo (what?)

You hear that shit (what?)

Don't fuck with me, ya niggas hear that shit

Ya niggas fuck with (yo chill, man take it)

[Chorus x4: The Mighty Ha (Yogi)]

Rhythem Blunt Cru, knockin at the door

(Nothin but the rough, rugged & hardcore)

[Black Rob]

Jack call Yopes, so I stay to bring the metal

To my job on 34th, I got some beef with these devils

Automatic weapons, fuck askin niggas questions

Leave them torn, as the justice cypher born then we steppin

[Chadeeo]

All rise, parental discreation is advised

And be wise, cuz one who fronts is one who dies

Smoke buddah by the mic, just like a barracuda

Flush the Cru to the ground like Roto Rooter

[Yogi]

A fight, a fight, a nigga and a white

If a nigga don't win, we all jump in

Wanna be me, but you can't see me

Cuz I don't rap like Michael Jackson those little wee-wees

Uck it, bottom line, top of the page

Loves to fuck a big body bitch like Rage

Runnin thru uptown like I don't got no sense

And Frederick K. Price couldn't find no evidence

[Black Rob]

Yo I make the grade, now I'm crazy paid

Niggas watch me close like Muslims in the World Trade

Center, represent the click in the city

Blowin up the spot, like silicone titties

[Chadeeo]

Try to defeat beat, nigga ya dead wrong

Too head strong, and got a 38 leg long

So fuck around, lay around on the wet ground

By the tray pound, and these sick niggas from uptown

Let me clear my throat now

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