Organized Rime Pt 2 Lyrical Key lyrics

[Chorus - repeat 2x]

Yo god, I`m tryin to stack and get a castle

Cook lyrical keys in the lab

Bag `em on two inch plates, DATs too

Organized rime, time is money

Hustle nickels of vinyl

Cassettes are dimes and a CD`s a twenty



[Verse 1]

Yo, I used to roll with thugs who sold drugs

and put slugs in dealers who turned squealers

The cap pealers *gun shot* high rollers, big money wheelers

Niggaz who`ll spank a nigga infront of his moms without feelings

The transporters, importers and exporters

Puttin hits out on P.O`s, judges and seargents and news reporters

Most of the gods I used to do crimes with

ended up in Sing Sing infirmary, gettin their asshole stitched

Wifey with a switch, your godfather turned snitch

They up north, while we out in New York, tryin to get rich

I worked my way up from grinding and measuring

Credit card skeems and crimes and embezzling

I kept climbin Sugar Hill to get the treasures and

Strivin for diamonds and a million dead presidents

Some left murder weapons, fingerprints and evidence

Got hit with 25, the feds sabotaged their residence



[Chorus]



[Verse 2]

Scramblin to get the cream, kept the rap dream

Livin on two planes of reality, caught in between

Wanted the best of both worlds, chasin material

Snake niggaz play the priest, throwin the dirt at my burial

My world consisted of sex, lust, money and L`s

Now I get lifted off Exodus, 20 and 12

My role models were the brothers on the corner who sold bottles

Out on parole, the mind and soul of Aristotle

Red Hook was like a mafia flick

Never got to cop me a brick

We used to plot to stick Poppi and shit

Sittin pretty in a white land, my man had the right plan

Flights to get his head right in white sands

Sippin cristal, pimpin a pistol

Till his ass got shipped up to Fishcale

He used to cop two bricks, watch his chips pile

Now he sits in a cell, prayin for a mistrial



[Chorus]



[Verse 3]

When DEA rushed the crib, we flushed an ounce on them

Handcuffed in the hall and we still tried to bounce on them

Hit rock bottom, then we catch another loan shark

Scale our rocks, to get a eight ball hit the pawn shop

Street dreams weighin a cake on a triple beam

Heat skeems, playin for papes, my team crippled feins

Investin money into street stocks

My peeps used to keep glocks

Slap you up and give you speed knots

In the diamond district yankin ice chains

The gods used to heist trains

Then late at night stick the dice games

Five bombs of Lah and Rock up in the mailbox

C.O`s had niggaz sell rocks from their cell blocks

Most of the gods got bagged and got indicted

Some had open cases out of state and they got extradicted

Some tried to fight it, blew trial on their appeal

Got uncorrect bails, for smugglin guns and direct sales



[Chorus]



[DJ cuts Nas sample while Bazz ad-libs]

"Somehow the rap game reminds me of the crack game"