U-God - Stick Up lyrics

f/ INF-Black

[Intro: INF-Black]

Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?

Uh-huh, all my live niggaz, friday..

Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?


I'm the hood like weed and crack

Best believe I'm the hood and I ain't far from my gat

Was taught to hold it down, and never slack on my mack

Same niggaz you give pounds, be those niggaz that rat

The bullshit, you got a deal, momma told me react

I'm from a part of town, that's real, where you can't relax

Shots throwin', always somethin', get your head piece cracked

The block jumpin', stay pumpin', these buildings is where it's at

These buildings is where I stack, brought out the INF-Black

Rather get caught in the act, then caught dead in your back, so chill (chill)

If peace was an option, and still plottin'

Nobody's untouchable, keep your p's when it's coppin'

Please, when I'm cockin', or freeze and get boxed in

So many m.c.'s on they knees, now they plead when they coppin'

My live state rockin', fresh, and still grindin'

Time after time and my homies, I'm still ridin'

[Chorus 2X: INF-Black]

Ya'll haters coudln't ride with me

Couldn't get down like me, get high like me

Competition's like a robbery, it's easy to see

Yo, put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?

[Hook: INF-Black]

Go bang, when I'm jumpin' the gun

Have ya'll bitch ass niggaz run

It go bang, that's the sound of the thang

That's the sound of the thang..


I ain't talkin' like I can't slip, or get clipped

But I'm on point like my outfit matchin' my kicks

I'm cockin' this fifth, faggot niggaz all on my dick

With a heart full of fire, I ain't givin' an inch

Take my kindness for weakness, ain't life a bitch

Staten Isle's best secret'll run up in your shit

Like I ain't never been pinched, took a blow over some dough

I slap a hole in the 'fro for sniffin' my blow, it's real

Park Hill's where I'm from, where killas load guns

And take funds, huggin' the trigger

Shot pumps in your Hilfiger, or the block for this cheddar

Hold cracks in sweaters, next to floored counterfeiters

Yeah, I loved a lot of niggaz, but lot of niggaz I stop lovin'

It's me or them, so fuck 'em (fuck 'em) ...

[Chorus 2X]


I'm livin' proof, nigga, listen

More jewels than Q when he killed Bishop, play the roll or be the victim

Time's tickin', my hand's itchin', I'm hot in the kitchen

Any condition, I'm street, son, I'm plottin' the mission

Choppin' the raw, I'll break it off, through my addition

It's gonna be friction, I keep the half-sawed, it's real

Push my limit, catch an ass whippin', son, I aint' missin'

Two tool for the club and a nine for the waistline

Get it all, it's fine, just like your bitch, can't wait to taste mine

Break spines for yards and I break the bassline

Hold it down with my squad, move hard as county lines, run that

I'm your car, wouldn't call it a crime

My rubber gripped chrome nine, keep ya'll hoes in line

Treat you like old pussy, cuz I'll fuck you when I want

Gut you out like a turkey and I'll stuff you a blunt, chump

Have you in emergency, for tryin' hum a stunt

[Chorus 2X]

[Bridge: INF-Black]

Nigga run that...

Give up your chain and your watch, or the glock'll go click clack

I ain't playin', what I'm sayin', throw these hollows in your six pack

Don't have me pop, don't move, nigga, I ain't try'nna hear that

Niggaz know I won't hesitate to put your fuckin' shit back

[Interlude: INF-Black]

Yeah, INF-Black, Hillside Scramblers, it


[Outro: INF-Black]

Muthafuckas, toast to that, nigga

Put your hands up, it's a stick up, you heard?

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