Rza

Rza - Brooklyn Babies

(feat. Force MD's, Masta Killa, Tiffany)

[Tiffany]

Bobby, I'm tired of yo' shit, nigga!

I'm tired of you comin' in at 3 o'clock in the mornin'

Nigga, you got a family here

You act like you don't fuckin' know that shit

Nigga, what the fuck?

[RZA: overlapped by chorus]

Yo, yo, yo, yo..

Growin' up in crazy Cali

Yo, yo, yo..

[Chorus 1: Force MD's]

Digital, these niggas should be crazy

Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby

Bedstuy, this is my life..

[RZA]

Yo, yo, yo..

A Brooklyn baby, I was bron up in King's County

Inside the womb seven months before the Queen found me

Up in wroughty Brownsville with fiends around me

Now roam gat in Staten with Cream Team around me

They called me Bobby, cousin, really got the black Harley

Taught his son how to spike cats like Lee Harvey

Oswald, all's well that ends well

My big brother Divine, he pushed the Benz well

I got the cherry Range, broke and rockin' heavy chains

I'm from the tribe of men who would bury Kings

On the back of the A-train, my daydream

Should I make a phat hit or should I take CREAM?

From the Clan that taught you Cash Rules

I make soul grind tracks, you grab ass too

Give respect to the Prince when he pass through

Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe

Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi

Two-two in front of the Jakes like Jack Ruby

Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y

D-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well

[Chorus 1]

[Chorus 2: Force MD's]

Digital, these niggas should be crazy

Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby

This is how I live my life..

[Masta Killa]

Yeah..

Peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X

Shot dice on green, we live from Calasky y'all

It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic

Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra'

What's the word on things?

Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds

in the background, layin' down

I'm spittin' what the people missin'

We extreme with the murder type theme

Don't sleep, get ya head split to the white meat

Big guns, down South we blaze

Shippin' bodies back up North, it's the Weston

Wild Texan, no trespassin'

Long mics hit the dead arm

Planet Earth, home of Islam

Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn

Rough tacklin' the streets, Allah Math' spine Technics

We bring heat to the block party, drinkin' Bacardi

Baggin' shorties for the homies who ain't here

[Chorus: both to fade]

[Tiffany: overlapped by chorus]

Bobby, that's right, you ain't shit, nigga

You ain't shit, but a big dick and a mothafuckin' cheque

All that fuckin' Brooklyn shit, Shaolin shit

Nigga, grow the fuck up!

What the fuck is up with you, nigga?

You ain't shit, nigga

Comin' in high off that shit

What the fuck?

I'm tired of yo' shit

What the fuck is that shit anyway?

What the fuck?

And your cousin Billy, I'm sick of that mothafucka

That mothafucka could never come up in this

mothafuckin' house ever again

He's a criminal mothafuckin' gangsta, see that shit?

A criminal, I'm sick of that shit

I'm sick of yo' shit, Bobby [echoes]

Brooklyn this, Shaolin that

What the fuck, nigga?

I don't know why I love your stupid ass anyway

Pssh.. but I do love you Bobby

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