Brooklyn Babies - RZA feat Force MD's, Masta Killa & Tiffany

Bobby, I'm tired of yo' sh_t, n_gga!
I'm tired of you comin' in at 3 o'clock in the mornin'
N_gga, you got a family here
You act like you don't f_ckin' know that sh_t
N_gga, what the f_ck?

[RZA {*overlapped by chorus*}]
Yo, yo, yo, yo..
Growin' up in crazy Cali
Yo, yo, yo..

[Chorus 1 - Force MD's]
Digital, these n_ggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
Bedstuy, this is my life..

Yo, yo, yo..
A Brooklyn baby, I was bron up in King's County
Inside the womb seven months before the Queen found me
Up in wroughty Brownsville with fiends around me
Now roam gat in Staten with Cream Team around me
They called me Bobby, cousin, really got the black Harley
Taught his son how to spike cats like Lee Harvey
Oswald, all's well that ends well
My big brother Divine, he pushed the Benz well
I got the cherry Range, broke and rockin' heavy chains
I'm from the tribe of men who would bury Kings
On the back of the A-train, my daydream
Should I make a phat hit or should I take CREAM?
From the Clan that taught you Cash Rules
I make soul grind tracks, you grab ass too
Give respect to the Prince when he pass through
Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe
Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi
Two-two in front of the Jakes like Jack Ruby
Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y
D-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well

[Chorus 1]

[Chorus 2 - Force MD's]
Digital, these n_ggas should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby
This is how I live my life..

[Masta Killa]
Peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X
Shot dice on green, we live from Calasky y'all
It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic
Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra'
What's the word on things?
Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds
in the background, layin' down
I'm spittin' what the people missin'
We extreme with the murder type theme
Don't sleep, get ya head split to the white meat
Big guns, down South we blaze
Shippin' bodies back up North, it's the Weston
Wild Texan, no trespassin'
Long mics hit the dead arm
Planet Earth, home of Islam
Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn
Rough tacklin' the streets, Allah Math' spine Technics
We bring heat to the block party, drinkin' Bacardi
Baggin' shorties for the homies who ain't here

[Chorus - both to fade]

[Tiffany {*overlapped by chorus*}]
Bobby, that's right, you ain't sh_t, n_gga
You ain't sh_t, but a big d_ck and a mothaf_ckin' cheque
All that f_ckin' Brooklyn sh_t, Shaolin sh_t
N_gga, grow the f_ck up!
What the f_ck is up with you, n_gga?
You ain't sh_t, n_gga
Comin' in high off that sh_t
What the f_ck?
I'm tired of yo' sh_t
What the f_ck is that sh_t anyway?
What the f_ck?
And your cousin Billy, I'm sick of that mothaf_cka
That mothaf_cka could never come up in this
mothaf_ckin' house ever again
He's a criminal mothaf_ckin' gangsta, see that sh_t?
A criminal, I'm sick of that sh_t
I'm sick of yo' sh_t, Bobby {*echoes*}
Brooklyn this, Shaolin that
What the f_ck, n_gga?
I don't know why I love your stupid ass anyway
Pssh.. but I do love you Bobby

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