Stanley Brothers - The Angels Are Singing lyrics

(feat. Lounge Mode, Pike, Remedy)

[Intro: Pike]

Yo, hold up, yo you know what..

S.I., Staten Island, niggaz, yo, yo

[Pike]

Ain't no more talkin' money or fame

I'm stalkin' this game, and when I'm done

I'm stickin' the fork in this game and run clutchin' my gun

Name P.I., place S.I., N.Y.C

Caramel papi chulo, mammies vena que

Let's see if you could stop me

I beat it like a one man posse, I leave it wet and sloppy

I'm cocky, at times laid back, like to keep my fade back

A lot of niggaz about to get paid back (HOOOOO!)

Because a lot cats that don't like me

I guess they thought I took it lighty

But I rhyme and make you niggaz wanna fight me

I'll melt a nigga like a icey, and wipe 'em up with a towel

Still on the prowl, how bout? It's Staten Isle, I'm foul

The same time I got respect for what's real

Who said Staten Island niggaz ain't real?

You dead wrong, and took you tied up with a red thong

For goin' against The Struggle

We squeeze on the team, crash your huddle

[Lounge Mode]

Well I'm known in the hood like Castellano

You could see me in the fiddy, puffin' H. Armano

Doin' eighty on the Belt', follow signs to Verrazano

I keep two guns in my hood like paisano

My style iller than ill, I'm sick like Alzheimer's

A bugged cat, ready to bring back old drama

If it wasn't for the Slash, what could I tell mamma

God damn, it's bad blood between brick and the mud (HOOOOO!)

Brick and the thugs, shittin' on love

Turned over on the newest, start spittin' the snub

My flow is nice and I ain't worried about them hoes at night

For my wife and seeds, gotta get this dough shit right

I'm analyzin', a look how the pro's get ripe

And number 16, yeah, I want it showin' the lights

I rep the hood, gotta respect the good

Even the ones that left the hood, bitch!

[Chorus: Lounge Mode (all) w/ ad-libs]

Car hard suits, Timb boots and millimeters

(We got this, we got this)

Hoes and fancy cars and smokin' reefers

Cellies and beepers (we got this)

Hoodies and sneakers (we got this)

[Remedy]

Yo, it's the smoked out white boy back on the block

With the thirty eight snubbed nosed, tucked in his sock

From the H-Block, Huegonaut, part of the rock

Shaolin, Staten Isle, and I love hip hop

And when it comes to the kid, man, shit ain't easy

I Lounge with the Cappa D. and L.O. Beezy (I see you!)

You sees me? Yeah, yo, believes me

The Code:Red for life click, racoons need me

Duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh, I got this

Rock this, radio drop this

The Code:Red's for real, yo, you can't stop this

None of ya'll muthafuckas out there could block this

Jumped in the whips, all dipped down low

Ready for a trip, to where, I don't know

No matter where we go, you can't stop the flow

The heat's on, gun's drawn, what's up, yo?

[Cappadonna]

Aiyo, my spit never tasted good, I'm sour

I spit for the money and I spit for power

Then I lean on ya'll like the Eiffel Tower

And to my Staten Isle niggaz, that's my heart

I might leave for a minute, but could never depart

Yeah, I'm married to this bitch and I'm still fuckin'

I'm in the hood where the guns is nothin'

And niggaz don't say shit, like E.F. Hutton

Paranoid like Bush, press the button

Don't make me grab the boomers and get disgustin'

Poppy Wardrobe King, Code:Red Production

Pillage for life niggaz, the hoes that's crushin'

To all my niggaz that went out bustin'

Grindin', the black Timbs on, wild out, hustlin'

(We got this, we got this)

[Chorus]