Video musicale

Young G's - Puff Daddy Feat. Jay-Z & Notorious B.I.G
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In primo piano

Crediti

PERFORMING ARTISTS
JAY-Z
JAY-Z
Vocals
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Vocals
Kelly Price
Kelly Price
Vocals
Oliver Sain
Oliver Sain
Sampled Artist
Puff Daddy
Puff Daddy
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Christopher Wallace
Christopher Wallace
Songwriter
Rashad Smith
Rashad Smith
Songwriter
Oliver Sain
Oliver Sain
Songwriter
Sean Combs
Sean Combs
Songwriter
Shawn Carter
Shawn Carter
Songwriter
Todd Gaither
Todd Gaither
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Rashad Smith
Rashad Smith
Producer
"Prince Charles" Alexander
"Prince Charles" Alexander
Mixing Engineer
Paul Logus
Paul Logus
Recording Engineer
Herb Powers, Jr.
Herb Powers, Jr.
Mastering Engineer
Steve Jones
Steve Jones
Assistant Recording Engineer
The Notorious B.I.G.
The Notorious B.I.G.
Executive Producer

Testi

Uhh, check it out, uhh Uhh, uhh I step in where the Mo's and the hoes at bay-bee! Fuck all that pretty shit Takin' it back to the gutter for you motherfuckers Niggaz know the deal Niggaz know who the Don is Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one Peep game, uhh, what, what Out of this world like Mars, when I spit these bars Come fuck with these stars up in luxury cars We built them radars to stay free from the cops Crucial choices to make, like A-C or the drop Are we gonna stop? Shit man never my squad go broke Your squad arti-choke Watch your circle vanish like cigar smoke Ain't no joke, when your ones don't show Nigga I know, might say, "Been there done that" like Dre Through hard work I earn the vault Promise God to never look back or I turn to salt Got nice watches, nice cars, nice bitches and rings Guess it's safe to say a nigga like me got nice things Can't relate to motherfuckers, who ain't go no cake When you all fucked up, and can't get no break When your fake ass friends, don't help you out when you need it Be on some real bullshit, politely tell you to beat it Fuck that, get your own nigga, don't ask me for shit That's what I did, now they all askin for hits Nigga it's on for the simple fact I let it be known We still fly but separately 'cause now I, charter my own Propellers, Goodfellas, leave all them playa haters jealous Billboard charts should tell us, they can't touch us Why niggaz bring the ruckus? Because release day is bigger than Mandela's, motherfuckers Just some ghetto boys Living in these ghetto streets (these ghetto streets) And everyday they gotta fight to stay alive It's just reality, yeah Yeah, make you a deal, check These here's the dog years and motherfuckers don't shed I try to bring you life but motherfuckers want dead So I travel with the babble, with the chrome, with the lead 'Cause when it's on, then it's on, the shots flowin' through your head I been rich I been poor I saved and blown bread Some say I been here before because of the way I zone Some said, Jigga zone is like the fallin' of Rome Reoccuring, that he thinks like that 'cause he's observing Won't be known until I'm gone and niggaz study my bones Mentally been many places, but I'm Brooklyn's own In the physical, once seems, like a lost body In fact my thoughts don't differ much from that of God body But it's the odd shottie, that got cats, likening me To the mob John Gotti, rap dudes bitin' me 'cause I got it locked like the late Bob Marley Pardon me y'all, the great Bob Marley Solemnly we mourn, all the rappers that's gone Niggaz that got killed in the field and all the babies born Know they ain't fully prepared for this New World Order So I keep it ghetto like sunflower seeds and quarter waters You walk em through it, you know, talk 'em through it Know these beads is more than music whenever I talk to it Destined for greatness and y'all knew this, when I doubled the pie Had a shorty and a girdle comin out of B-W-I (in school) I hated algebra but I loved to multiply And I told my nigga Big I'd be multi before I die It's gonna happen whether rappin' or clappin' have it your way 'Cause if that's my dough you're trappin', I'm clappin' your way Just some ghetto boys Living in these ghetto streets And everyday they gotta fight to stay alive It's just reality, yeah Damn it feel good to see people up on it Flipped two keys in two weeks and didn't flaunt it My brain is haunted, with mean dreams GS's with BB's on it, supreme schemes, to get Richer Than Richie, quickly, niggaz wanna hit me If they get me, dress my body in linen by Armani, check it My lyrical carjack, make your brains splat High caliber gats is all I fuck with, now peep the rough shit In my circumfrence, mad bitches, with mad lucci Bulletproof vestes under they coochie Spittin' my uzi, don't lose me, my trigga niggaz represent Drivin' dirty in J-30's gettin' bent And to my hit hoes, my murder mommies I be smokin' trees in Belize when they find me While you still killin' niggaz with punany, like heiny And Cyrus up in Cypress fuck you raw you on the floor with the virus While I just, slang coke, smoke pounds to choke Got lawyers watchin' lawyers so I won't go broke, now check it Them country niggaz call me Frank White I'm squirtin off in my loft of course I know my shit's tight Sunrise open my eyes no surprise Got my shorty flyin' in with keys taped to her thighs With all the utensils, who hang my china thing She half black half oriental eighty-six she got me rental The situation ain't accidental What? From a, from a young G's perspective Just some ghetto boys Living in these ghetto streets (What? From a, from a young G's perspective) And everyday they gotta fight to stay alive It's just reality (it's just reality) mm Just some ghetto boys Living in these ghetto streets And everyday they gotta fight to stay alive It's just reality
Writer(s): Christopher Wallace, Rashad Smith, Shawn C. Carter, Oliver Jr. Sain, Kelly Price, Todd Eric Gaither Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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