The Pj's lyrics

Pete Rock

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(feat. Raekwon & Masta Killa)

Yo man get ya ass in here man
You know the fuckin' police lookin' for you man?
Come on man, them niggaz just left here man
Come on man you know we got mad fuckin' blow up in the motherfuckin' lab son
This nigga's off the hook man, Yo Chef talk to these niggaz man

We baggin' ounces in the back of the Maz'
Ostrich on, Wollriches, three Quarter-ness
A.D.I.D.A.S. with' Stan Smith's the grants on the stove
And Aunt Lo about to come to the Lab-o
She givin' me some credit for clothes
That's the slang work for bricks, dicks analyze
You never know who lookin' it's deranged world
With' snitches is enterprisin' black man hold on
Like magnums in the wind cause when it get cold
Parole give a homey like ten
What's the prognosis? : drugs, guns, and ounces
Of gold fish fly reefer out-town, bitches is stone six
And birds back in 18 and played C.R.E.A.M gray beam
It's lean new A.D.I.D.A.S jackets
Flippin' up small dean visualizin' portraits
Fresh cuts brand new Porsche's going with hand-to-hand
Servin' the source yo, runnin' from the police
This day-to-day lifestyle where niggaz get arraigned & get chain
It's like cycle-blaow!

[Chorus: Pete Rock]
Drug dealers, stars & celebrities (ghetto celebs)
Even dudes with a few felonies (a few felonies)
In the PJ's this what they tellin' me (tellin' who?)
Sniffin' real hard but you not smellin' me (smell me)
The crowd yellin' for Chef, Killa & Pete Rock (Pete Rock)
Got 'em movin' like the millenium beat box (beat box)
Shit is all hood 'till they hear the heat cock (Whoo!)
Fall back & let the beat rock

[Masta Killa:]
Degrees of experience qualifies me to speak in certain areas where many can't reach
So I prepared a speech for y'all to then listen while I spit the hot venomous shit
My whole clique sick, infested with' the itchy tigger finger mob related Noodle-leanie
Universal flag Beanie, Son you wouldn't want to see me black down
Masta .4 pound clip full of hollow tip
Round turn the fuckin' sound up, my cup runneth over Hennessey
The Bill Bixby Ninja Scroll, niggaz that roll
My son did four in the hole, tenant population, neva told, facin' parole
Sipped the old gold style, beat it in trial
My mild-mannered .9 Bandit, flow drunk look at skunk weed
Stickin' razor sharp rip 'em, bites lift 'em we at the jam direct
The Ghetto Gospel, collaboration
Nine word could change the nation, no doubt!


Tuna salad & Puma rackets pushin' through the projects
Captain get your money yo show me no slackin
We drive the meanest Joints shoot through Medina with' a Evisu jeans
And ninas stop by juniors we hittin' cheeba briefly
Crackers observe you got the undercovers, niggaz just love us
We know that they suckers, you know what? - What? Mosey don't be nosey yo!
Watch these fake niggaz with' these thank you cards them shits is bogey
Snitches in the hood up to no good
We would kill a lot of motherfuckers but the timin' ain't good
So while my bankroll climbin' I be out on consignment
Breezin' Ki's with 29 letter melted cheeses
All of my papers now in real estate white folks
Been doin' this since '69 It's billions & killer weight
So prosperous moves with' the jewels, with Wu Nikes on
It's cool don't eva act like niggaz ain't who (?) One!


Yeah! We just sit back in the Luxury Toasters
Slidin' through the motherfuckin' projects
Stand away from you fake ass motherfucker's
Layin' up in the barbershops gettin' fucked up cuts
We don't respect y'all (respect y'all)
Knaw'sayin'? This is Shala Louis Rich, Pete Rock, Masta Killa, The Vatican
One! I'm gone

"Well this next number I'm gonna dedicate to my barber
Cause he been trimming me for the last past 3 years"
"Heh... heh... heeh... heh... heeh... Heeeeeeey! "

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