Art And Life Chi Roc lyrics

Art & Life (Chi-Roc) Lyrics

[Intro: Young Chris]

Yeah...
Young Chris, M-E`s, Free-Wheez... Tha boy Twista...
Holla...

My life on tha track... (Okay...),
Up and comin`... State Prop...
Check game... (That`s right...),
Get low... (Get low...),

It`s tha Roc...
Better than ever (Holla)...
Yeah...

It`s tha motherfuckin` Roc bitch, you hotter than us?

(Okay, okay)

[Young Chris]
Ever since a young buck, I been on tha come up,
Known to dish tha raw, dish tha law if they come up,
And cheddar `till tha sun up...
If there`s a ransom and tha law get involved, then we never get they son up,
Never put ya gun up, if ya come round me,
I go to war wit` niggas `round tha corner from `round me,
You can front `round me, but I read through that,
Wit` tha mili` and I ain`t talkin` `bout no Segal mac,
Niggas see shoot back, we can see to that,
Hit yo front letters see through back, bring yo peoples back,
And I used to grind out on my friends spot, `till he`s mom wanted my Tim-bots,
Now my paint got me discounts, or trans-quo all around tha world, like I was signed to
Pimp-dot,
And if it`s ten targets and I got ten shots,
I`m tryin` to leave at least hit nine out of them ten shot...

[Memphis Bleek]
I got my mind on my money, money on mind,
But some say its a gift, I don`t write but I rhyme,
I, complete songs with just one try,
Tell `em it`s no lie, I be flowin all my life dogg, I never think, it`s already there,
I find ways to say-it, so you motherfuckers hear-it,
And when you hear it you feel it, you know its real (so...),
This is how I live it, how its pictured for real, (nigga...),
I`m shittin for real...
Diamonds against wood, underground king for real,
Big crib when I lay, yeah I`m livin` for real,
Trust me tha guns come off tha shelf whenever shit`ll get real,
Automatics and tha extended clips, that`s what I`m hittin` wit`,
Dummies in tha black rhinoes,
(Yeah...) They be killin` shit,
Mask up kidnap shit, that`s how my niggas get,
Chi-town, NYC, that`s how my niggas get...

[Freeway]
Yes, just picture me rollin`,
Tha smith and wesson`ll stay goin` put a hole in yo chest,
It`s just, another hustle paper gettin` made and fold ya,
Mad, you street niggas finally made it,
I swoop five, he know tha ride, heavily loaded,
Deliver pies like cake, they go straight through yo payment, (Yup...),
Chump... You don`t really wanna war,
With tha State Prop clique, if ya clique shot us, (Why us...?),
S-P game so damn tough, tha 4 4 in tha 5th tucked ya`ll cant hang,
Transporter turned rapper, get a can for to fill my life,
Still acclompished, wanna fill they cups?
Tha rap version of Mandela call my bluff,
Well still tha street dwellers feel my pain (My pain...),
I spit a verse and split a clip in tha rain,
A fool-proof when tha full force open you (What...?),

[Twista]
Twista will rock you, you don`t want tha thug apostle to pop you,
Hostile when I drop you, turnin` everything colossal to fossiles,
I speak street gospel, all they life I spit words and paint portraits,
For real niggas that hold down they fortress and serve off of porches,
Hit `em in tha body wit` tha powerful forces, that`ll end all your data,
Make you clean up your house, bag up an ounce, hit tha dance floor and bounce,
We blessed wit` tha talent, fuck wit this clique, it ain`t gon` be easy,
`Cuz you fuckin` wit` Twist if you fuck wit Chris, Bleek and Free-wheezy,
So speak and breath easy... Or tha scutche`s my future in 3D,
I like whore`s, I`m from a city full of vice, lords, and GD`s,
Breeze and souls, 2-6`s, kings, BD`s and stones,
Spanish cobras and all tha true soldiers survivin` are gone,
Watch me spit if for tha killers and hustler`s, flippin` all tha pounds and bricks,
Hate on me I`ma bust at you hoes, and I put eleven down wit` a clip,
Niggas servin` fiftys and hundreds, when I see you and I`m on yo tip,
Twista and this East Coast Regime, it`s that Chi-Roc shit
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