Trackmasters - Hate Me Now Freestyle lyrics

[Intro: Jim Jones + Cam'Ron] I heard n***as talkin' reckless Man, y'all talkin' out the side of your mouth, n***a Y'all n***as is f*ggots, straight p**y Word to my mother, I'll put my foot in your a**, n***a No h*mo, n***a, what's really good? Jim Jones, Jim, calo status, east side, fool Dipset riders, n***a, when we catch you, we gon' slap that coofie straight off your mothaf**in' head Any other problems, n***a? You know Harlem gon' ride out, n***a Harlem, y'all act like I wasn't gon' stand up I wish you would, n***a It's nothin' When the dogs catch you, it's over, you're straight food, n***a Everybody wanna be king of the city When I come, n***a, y'all n***as better be real calm, n***a It's nothin', we just livin', millionaire status When you f**in' with the don, you f**in' with the Jones, you heard, n***a? Y'all with me? Harlem! Diplomats! Let's ride out It's gangstas over here, Harlem hear me with you, k**a, east side [Cam'ron] Aye yo, this lil' n***a Nas think he live like me Drove 5's, shot 5, flipped pies like me? Nah, Cam gonna blast, I done ran through his past And I ran for the mag, Taliban on your a**! You're terry cloth, that means very soft Thanks Jay, Com's the bomb, broke her cherry off! Severely ma**acred, we really gonna laugh at ya The Mac Milli blast at ya, you really run to Africa Stupid, s**er for love, home plenty Nelson Mandela? We all boned Winnie! sh**, I come over and fight You a lame, you forgot over the night Yo, your career's over like Mike Any one, Tyson, Jordan, Jackson Ask Dunn about my mean kids Frizzle steam, triple beam, cripple teams When you seen money in Queensbridge? Never I used to catch the tunnel Lil E, Vernon side, I gave him packs and bundles How many grams in an ounce? How many ounces in an eighth How many eighths in a key Shorty, stay in your place Before the AK's in your face Take your daughter, R Kelly, have my way with her face! And your mom's a whip wop head And you claim to be a hip-hop head? Ooh wop, two shots in his hip-hop head This way the whole world know that hip-hop's dead! Roc-A-Fella, hip-hop bread 50 thou' a night, holla back, hit my spread You wack, you twisted, your girl's a ho You're broke, the kid ain't yours and everybody know Your mans even tell you, you be like, “So? I love my baby mother, I never let her go” Stupid… [Outro: Jim Jones] That's right, n***a, we gon' get our spread, n***a That's a dumb percent of that for me, n***a So you know I'm ridin' for that, n***a Country bum a** f**, don't even know how to rock rocks I caught you with them two rocks on your wrist, n***a Next time it's gon' be k**in', n***a Trust me, man, I'ma clap you in flowers, you f*ggot You ain't even relyin' on your own hood, n***a You know where we at, n***a! 140th and Lenox, 15th and 7th, n***a All our j**els, n***a, trust me, man, we glitterin' f*ggot, you punk, you f**in' p**y hermaphrodite Straight h*mo, p**y a** n***a with a dick, n***a You got meek, n***a, word to Man got me so mothaf**in' hot, n***a, I'm just gon' calm down, man Yo k**a, fall back on these chumps and let's explain to them a few things they need to learn better, n***a Holla, east side the gangstas for sure