It’s Goin’ Down lyrics

by

J.R. Writer


Verse: Cam'Ron

Who is it? Killa, boo
Jigga what? Jigga who? He a motherf*cking jiggaboo
Playa hater, I don't play them games
You got beef with Killa? n*gga, say my name
You shy? He snorting raw or they reported wrong
My paper long, I be on any resort you on
The muscle muscle tussles I give
I got homes where you hide, I hustle where you live
So get the K's, I'm Mr. K, he fish filet
He only go to Marcy on Christmas Day
You not Santa, f*ck clothes from Bertoff
'Fore you murk off, why don't you drop work off
Or, sign a rapper from the borough, get off Jeezy di*k
And Rick Ross sh*t, but he a j*rk-off
I done dust and fried him, the fans must oblige him
Called the sandals slippers, can't justify them
We the Byrdgang, you a bird head
You do flip-flops, step up, Hermes
I from the back blocks, the rats, the have-nots
Only G4 I'm on is a laptop
Got me over-depressed, n*gga, Hov is a mess
It's G5 minimum or Global Express
Goddag, we living in Baghdad
You got no style, dip inside the swag bag
See bad past, Benz's, black Jag
I'm tremendous, my pants from sack sag
And the guns are imported and exquisite
He out of retirement, Jordan on the Wizards
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