Joe Budden Family Reunion lyrics

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Family Reunion by Joe Budden Family Reunion lyrics [Intro: Killa BH - talking] Uh oh! It's that time again It's been too long It's family reunion We got to school y'all to the game (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?) You know what let's talk to 'em (HUH?) Let's go (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?) [Talking behind Killa BH: Joe Budden] Uh Mic check, mic check Check, one two, one two [Talking: DJ On Point] Y'all already know what time it is (y'all already know what time it is) Family reunion (family reunion) Ransom (Ransom), Hitchcock (Hitchcock), Fab (Fab), let's go [Talking behind DJ On Point: Joe Budden] The wolves is out niggaz, uh Get 'em boy [Verse 1: Ransom] Ain't nobody tryin to rap or play me I'll be at they crib with a couple hammers and a black old AV Black gonna pay me, still get the smack off Baisley Cause I'm touchin more diesel than Shaq old lady Boy, you did it, I done it, I get it, I punish The shit that I come with'll separate a riff from a stomach I'm the boss, when I spit it, you love it Matter fact, I'm a Viking, I need a whole village to plumage Yeah, the nigga is here, the city is scared You got the throne? Then I think I need to sit in your chair We could really get physical here And the sky's the limit nigga, I put your whole clique in the air Baby, so quit playin, 'fore the clips spray 'em And have his MIA like Nick Saban His whole shit caved in, my whole clique cavemen Hard bodied nigga, my whole shit pavement You can't spit if you dead in the ground In the woods, where your head'll be found And it's good that you gettin it now, in the precinct confessin it now I can't fuck with the rest of you clowns, faggot [Verse 2: Hitchcock] High in the silence before the storm Lincoln Park, the Audubon Slang rock on the same block that the water on I be more than gone, run and get your order form Next time I record a song, gon' put my daughter on Cause she realer than most niggaz I tote triggers, for you broke niggaz and gold diggers with no figures That why I palm the heater, for all you non-believers I'm on your ass like white on Rice, I'm Condoleezza Better con the preacher, you tryin to get on a feature Better get your casket bastard (why?), I'm gon' eat ya We ain't in the same weight class Your fake ass, couldn't stop a nigga with brake pads I'm way past, anything that you ever did I'm better kid and we never sweat a bid It's easy to get a cig In the bing, I'm like Ving Rhames, I bring pain I sling 'caine off the wing like I'm King James Y'all doubtin who? When I spit the whole lead, they be callin Code Red, like Mountain Dew 'Fore I count to two, you could get your back blown (OH!) Cause your chemic's out of minutes like a TracFone (NIGGA!) Get back homes, I'm back on my shit I don't mingle, I'm like Pringles, stackin my chips Clappin my fifth, you the 'test me type' Comin out with a "Blade" to get Wesley Snipes So the cops could arrest me, right? It's not happenin You ain't ever gonna get on, so stop rappin (H20) comin this summer, so stop askin All heat like Wall Street, it stop crashin Now the Feds want to read his rights Lord have mercy, Jesus Christ, I got passion I'm black and all my niggaz gettin this 'feti We in the Chevy and ready to pop tags and (what? OH!) [Chorus: Joe Budden - w/ ad libs] So whatever you tryin to do little niggaz (niggaz), I already done (done) And since you want to live by it little nigga (nigga), then die by the gun (gun) See whatever you tryin to do little nigga, I've already done (done) So how the fuck you gon' win little nigga (nigga), I've already won (won) [Verse 3: Fabolous] Like we always do it, d-d-damn Yes (yes), let's go (yes), uh huh Aiyyo, money is the root of all evil I thought But when I'm broke is usually when I have the evilest thoughts That's when the arms come out, like sleeves when it's short With more bullets than your favorite wide receiver has caught And that Randy Mossberg, ya Steve Smith & Wesson ya The shoes pop up like Instant Messenger You've got mail, naw nigga you got shells And my Mac, you can't use for iChat I've got that, confused that with live flat And my gat is on leg like thigh tat I that nigga, who you dudes Some broke niggaz who tryin to get some youtube views So 'less you want a point blank, boy you're too close Bail's in pocket, this is Lawyer Lou Los I'm pretty sure more hotties seen me in that four door ridey Double pipes like a sawed off shotty, nigga (IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT?) [Verse 4: Joe Budden] I flow sickly, ridin, bumpin old Biggie Roll with me or lose weight, Nicole Richie Fuck plat, if I don't reach diamond vein I treat a nigga's face like the old Simon game Figured out why men try us Cause we OD on rims and then tires, for that we Len Bias All it takes is a punch He ain't brave, he a punk I'll put his family in boxes, meet the Brady Bunch How y'all feel yourselves? Should kill yourselves, us Cowboys don't need you, you Bill Parcells And you ain't got to empty your pockets when the K's out Whatever you holdin is mine, we my PayPal See I don't get how this guy is a threat I make his life inept for a pie to the neck Ride or die, if you both nigga, ride to the death I a cappella the whole left side of his vest Not retirin, still got that pension pendin Tryin to pop the hood and see the engine missin Double barrelled shotgun, have your men get missin She got pretty brown eyes and she in mint condition Oh the cig in the car, you diss en moi Take the ratchet go home and just Chris Benoit Tell a bird like it is, you promise the broad I one line her (you), you Isiah Thomas the broad I could send a clique cartridge at a nemesis target And catch a ROR on some Jena 6 charges (naw) Naw, I'll put this thing away I don't even need a whole hairdo to flip 'em, all it take is one finger wave Been in the bing for days, show you how I'm real Come home to the truck with the Optimus Prime grill Handed out crack, got the scene poppin off They not sleepin on 'em, the fiends is noddin off For real, tell me how you a thug and you Superman? (nigga) I just seen you in the club doin the Superman (nigga) A bunch of clowns homes All I need in this world is the pound chrome, Huxtable brown stone Major paper (I mean), cake by the layers If these dudes is live, I'm the Creative Player They callin 'em 'Kings' when they so so hot Something's wrong with that picture, must be Photoshop I don't promote violence, but when sparkin the flame - BLAM Arms start wavin like the Carlton Banks dance When them tools go pop, it move whole blocks Come around with your dog and get Cooljo shot These MC's is lame, I try to be an MC with brains These niggaz is MC Brains Bein nice, rappers is far from bein nice I'm on the rooftop recordin, niggaz is bein sniped It's like [Chorus: w/ ad libs] [Outro: DJ On Point - talking - w/ Killa BH ad libs in background] Shout to the whole BSC (whole BSC) Shout to my nigga Dru Cartier SlimeBugz, DJ Sunkiss The Don (The Don), Dre Bless (Dre Bless) DJ Baby Dru (DJ Baby Dru) My nigga Freeze

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