Music Video

Featured In

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Ill Al Skratch
Ill Al Skratch
Performer
The LG Experience
The LG Experience
Performer
Lo-Rider
Lo-Rider
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Alphonse Constant
Alphonse Constant
Composer
Lorenzo Grooms
Lorenzo Grooms
Composer
Patrick Harvey
Patrick Harvey
Composer
Anthony Prendatt
Anthony Prendatt
Composer
Erick Sermon
Erick Sermon
Composer
Parrish J. Smith
Parrish J. Smith
Composer
The LG Experience
The LG Experience
Arranger
Lo-Rider
Lo-Rider
Arranger
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
The LG Experience
The LG Experience
Producer
Lo-Rider
Lo-Rider
Producer

Lyrics

(Pump funk fo the people) Yeah, come around my way Come around my way It's the Big Ill with the Al (This is for the homies) I got a letter from my homie Big Ill in the mail It said, use your head, Al, stay away from jail 'Cause ah, it ain't for you and ah, it ain't for me I tell you now it ain't the place you wanna be So I keep to myself nowadays Lay back, recline and get paid from my phrase Sometimes I get caught in a deep thought As I drink a quart of the cold old dog that I bought The more I drink, the more I start to think of him Locked up in the clink, will he sink or swim? I'm what they call the rap rebel Madball I'm nice with the dice, watch 'em bounce off the wall I come to your party, bounce through with my crew We pouring out some brew for some homies that we knew I'm searching for my homie but he can't be found I wanna give him a pound and let him know that he's down Where the homies? Creeping through the hood Where my homies? Come around my way, aiyo up to no good (Where my homies?) Where they at, where they at? (Creeping through the neighborhood) (For all those good times we had together) (This song is for the homies, this is for the homies) Well, it's Big Ill, the Babbling Bum, the bum that's babbling Don't try to step to this, my fist be traveling Unravelling, land on the gravel when you fall Yes, yes, y'all, I travel through the mess hall Now where my homie, I'm by my lonely I shoulda listened to what my mama told me But it's too late, I'm upstate pumping weight 'cause I'm frail What you gonna do when you get out of jail? Bust a cap, bust a cap, put that ass on the map Here's a slap in the grill 'cause you tried to front on Ill And I'm locked down, how the Glock sound? That's what you get for trying to blow up the spot, clown That's the ability, load up the artillery Your body I'll deliver to the river, gee Remember me with the (Crooklyn residency) Now you can take me out of Brooklyn But you can't take Brooklyn out of me That's how it be, gee Raise your forties for the missing homies For all those good times we had together This song is for our homies This is for the homies, yeah Well, it's the I to the l to the I Straight out the cell with Al, from the fiery pits of hell (Aiyo, what's up Big Ill, how you doing?) Aiyo, what's up Al Skratch, now can we woo-woo-woo? (Come around my way) That's what I'm about to do (Come around my way) Aiyo, I wanna kick it with your crew (Now 1-2 in the project halls with the Madballs) (Everyday all day, on 56 Broadway) But I'm Big Ill coming straight out the pen B to the K to the L to the Y to the N, bo (Let off a round, how that sound?) (Ain't nothing going down without the Brooklyn and the Uptown) Yeah, so where my homies at? (They're over here) Now do they got my back, do they got my back? (Yeah) Don't creep through my hood In the wrong way (This is for my homies) Now let the song play Shipped upstate Aiyo, it's too late
Writer(s): Patrick O. Harvey, Alphonse J. Constant, Tony Prendatt, Keith Staten, Lorenzo H. Grooms Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out