Jim Jones — Don’t Know What They Took Him For ft. Jadakiss, Philthy Rich

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Текст Jim Jones — Don’t Know What They Took Him For ft. Jadakiss, Philthy Rich

[Intro: Jim Jones]
You gotta stay sharp out here
You gotta stay in the loop
Can’t do what you did yesterday (Heatmakerz)
If you wanna live tomorrow (Crack Music)
Uh-huh, Jones

[Verse 1: Jim Jones]
It’s not a weapon they can form against me that will prosper (Pray for me)
I been whippin’ foreign Bentleys with an ill posture (Skrrt, skrrt)
Selassie, I know some deadly rastas
I been dancin’ with the wolves, it’s like Kevin Costner (You hear me?)
Bakin’ up them cakes, it’s like Better Crocker (Fact though)
I can give it to you hard if you already rock it (How you want that?)
But keep it low ’cause you know you don’t want the feds to pop up
On the real, with all this money, only the feds can stop us (Chill)
On birthdays was the worst days (Woo)
Now I might pop eighty grand on a Thursday (Count that up)
Two-point-two pounds is what the birds weigh (What that weight?)
If I’m a pastor, please tell me what the church say (Amen)
Heard you, be cool when I swerve through
Call them goons up, them niggas gon’ purge through
I done lived through things that might disturb you (Disturb you)
Facts

[Chorus: Jim Jones]
Promise, this ain’t the life you lookin’ for (Nope)
Searched my car but I don’t know what they lookin’ for
Secret indictments and I don’t know what they took ’em for (Damn)
I seen mommy in the kitchen, she was cookin’ raw (Uh-oh)
The traphouse with the trap door (Skrrt skrrt)
Packed house, now we comin’ through the backdoor (Whip it up)
It was black tops, rockin’ the black 4’s
Now we hoppin’ out of drops with the matte doors

[Verse 2: Jadakiss]
Nah, that title does not fit you (Nah)
The culture is not with you (Uh-uh)
Your verses are not scriptures (No)
I was a first and fifteenth block clicker (I was)
In the spot with the blicker, the plot got thicker (Yes)
I only indulged in weed then, not liquor (That’s it)
Tried to have the best work and finish my rocks quicker (I got it)
Prices got cheaper (Yeah), the hill’s all mine (All mine)
Now the work that I’m touchin’ could get me some real time (Raw)
I kicked it with the Lord, he sent me some real signs (Thank you)
I started to record, I wrote with some ill rhymes
It’s a love and hate thing, I’m dealin’ with real lines
Now it’s two guns up, so I got the concealed nines
They wait for you to die, then they label you a legend
I’m debatin’ on a new M8 or the X7 (Fire)
Figure either one’ll be a good look (Yes)
Count my blessings, get my lessons out the Good Book

[Chorus: Jim Jones]
Promise, this ain’t the life you lookin’ for (Nope)
Searched my car but I don’t know what they lookin’ for
Secret indictments and I don’t know what they took ’em for (Damn)
I seen mommy in the kitchen, she was cookin’ raw (Uh-oh)
The traphouse with the trap door (Skrrt skrrt)
Packed house, now we comin’ through the backdoor (Whip it up)
It was black tops, rockin’ the black 4’s
Now we hoppin’ out of drops with the matte doors

[Verse 3: Philthy Rich]
Uh-huh, look
Fifty pointers in the chain just to hide the pain (Bustdown)
Tryna count up all this money probably wreck my brain (Probably will)
Free that nigga Nef and free that nigga Mane (Free my niggas)
Lose all my niggas to the system, probably go insane (It’s Philthy)
Real street nigga, worked a few M’s (Sem City Money Man)
Rappin’ real street shit, dropped a few gems (Ayy, did you catch that?)
I know them niggas mad I’m in a new Benz (I know they mad)
Fuck it, spend another dime on some new rims (It’s Philthy)
Niggas from my hood died from niggas from my hood (Swear to God)
But everything I learnt came up out the hood (Seminary)
I took my niggas with me straight up out the hood (Solid)
But they’ll call you fake, you make it out the hood (It’s Philthy)
Bitches turn sour, nigga turn snake (Is that right?)
They shuttin’ off the power when the payment late (You know they is)
When you broke niggas love you, when you rich they hate (Pussy)
They plottin’ on your death, tryna set a date, it’s Philthy

[Chorus: Jim Jones]
Promise, this ain’t the life you lookin’ for (Nope)
Searched my car but I don’t know what they lookin’ for
Secret indictments and I don’t know what they took ’em for (Damn)
I seen mommy in the kitchen, she was cookin’ raw (Uh-oh)
The traphouse with the trap door (Skrrt skrrt)
Packed house, now we comin’ through the backdoor (Whip it up)
It was black tops, rockin’ the black 4’s
Now we hoppin’ out of drops with the matte doors