What They Want Lyrics

You say dools is getting fat
While real niggas starve
It's like that money got
The softest niggas acting hard
They wanna be me
They wanna be meat
But they more like Urkel,
More like Screech
Golf cart and fresh prints
They are not street
When them niggas try to say
What's up to me I don't speak
You lame and you got
Lame niggas that run with you
I'm here to make y'all weirdoes uncomfortable
If you're not tough
Don't act tough in your songs
Lie in the rapps like (???)
Put a (???) bag on!
Or do it like (???) or Moeller
Except like Jerome, make a song called
Hot silver
The game ain't the same
Russle Simons say I'm so necessary, man
What we used to say when we pull
These nigga's skirts up
Now let the real nigga bullies
Lift the skirts up

[Hook]

New York, New York
New York City
New York, New York
New York City

The thugs like me,
The hoes want me
The lames hate me
The streets need me
But do you see me?
The law save me
My real story is hood glory
And crack any of you
They can't touch me
They can't lock me
They can't break me!
The king really's
At King's county
So come crown me!
I f*ck jail
And skip bail in Dutch County
Jewels throwing, my text showin'
My finger (???)
Me and Murda alike, we don't give a f*ck!
No friends,
I bond better with criminals
Young daemon, my bitch swallow
A river, yo!
My city is my city is my city!
Run up on me,
For my Rollie, gon'die quickly
In my movie, the drug dealers and
Shooters win
Niggers fill me the same pen
As Scooter Inn Seat planted, I promised to hold
The city down
Hot 95, New York city down

[Hook]

This ain't what they wa'
Come on come on

Glass of Burbon, neat
Known to be swerving, yo!
Cautious on the shirts
40 below is the terminal
Trunk full of snow white,
Destined to blow the Porsche
Bone white, me and my holme,
On a storm height
Coconut dutches, Denver weed
Known for the hustling
Brother status, don't ever
Trust it, yo!
All these stars make me go savage
Other than that, average
Violate me, blast, switch to cabbie
Peace pipe in, thinkin' bout cashing in
Bitch's act's fun, holding conventions
And the (???) is winning
If I remember, in the 90′
It was Eminem
Since soul to souls, nigga swing M&M's

[Hook]

It's Trow Ave on the beat
Make the cipher complete
Triple beam team, can't nobody compete
Competition is missing
I'm finding Murda is missing
I'm the only mah'f*cker keeping up with tradition
Stay in your lane, my reserve to run this city
You low niggas don't cut it, take a buck fifty
Grandmos, the black Rambo, big gun and body Benz
By the violin bow.
Believe me, I'm so willing, and dope dealin'
Countin' paper, f*ck how you feel
(???) I am major!
Legal my own, seekin' my throne
All these other niggas chump
Try to beat at your dome
Mollie ain't dressed well
Rappers ain't right
Cause they don't understand
And I don't mean that they might
I ain't polite, I'm precise
I play dice with my life
A moment trip head
Mah'f*cker, that's life!

[Hook]

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