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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Black Rob
Vocals
Deri "D-Dot" Angellettie
Programming
Mario Winans
Programming
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Additional Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Robert Ross
Songwriter
Sean Combs
Songwriter
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Songwriter
D. Abrahams
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
D. Abrahams
Vocal Producer
Lynn Montrose
Assistant Engineer
Paul Logus
Mixing Engineer
P. Diddy
Producer
Ed Raso
Recording Engineer
Stephen Dent
Recording Engineer
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Producer
Lyrics
Black Rob F/ Joe er
Miscellaneous
You Don't Know Me
You have never seen my face before
You don't know me
Oh, no
You will never see my face again
You don't know me
Oh, no
You've never seen the gloves of an Uptown thug
You say I move drugs, cuz my shit is unplugged
Everywhere I go, results hound our love
Black unbless them like the heavens up above
Catch me in the new wave cab with ten bags and Etro
The shit you growin' is H20
Got beef so I'm taking it slow, making it grow
Right now my main concern is making it blow
Guns and ammo, man, yo, you gots to understand, yo
I'm not the one that hit them with the banjo
Here y'all is, bringing my fingerprints
Up in them cameras and shit like I fucked a singing bitch out
Ask her if she seen my face
Right: Look- I was out of town getting cake with Moore and Little Shake
Wasn't even out here in New York State
Trying to play me like a goat, like my name was Scape
Now you mad, son
Repeat 1
Called a nigga sleepin', outside creepin'
We out in Mexico, for a fun-filled weekend
At least I thought I was, they had the whole place barred
Still thinkin' I sold drugs, ice 'em up
Kick the door in, I find Satan
>From up top, bullets soaring, but I fake 'em
I'm hard to hit, Spanish speaking chick that constantly
And Mafia connections, chopping niggas, it's hard to get
Hit me with the 411, and the gun
Envelope, and transfered funds from Big Pun
Conversation, job well done
This shit is lifestyle now, shit, I do it all for fun
Rippin' the frames, got at least 20 different names
Know at least 20 different games with different lames
Not to mention liftin' Lane's credit cards and passports
Slayin' and flat on asphalt, still
Y'all don't know
Repeat 1
Repeat 1
I'm in the cell now, it's hell now, all stuffy
Seven numbers, told Harve to call Puffy
Say they got his man locked down in sick town
Gotta get him out, not now but right now
Catch him when they shift him when they open the yard
Hurry up, before these six rounds smokin' the guard
On the humble, I'ma just lay up for y'all to come through
Create a diversion; me, I start a rumble
Holdin' me, they ain't even take my flip
Got on Simmy's, they ain't even take my shit
Got my jewels, lend 'em right, them a be fools
On the sneak out, the peek out, had two left shoes
I'ma freak 'em, through the front gate, on administrations
Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin'
Straight up out a crystal face, like I'm Jason
Only a dust of dust, the wind, still north facin'
You late
Repeat 1 to fade
Writer(s): Cindy Walker, Eddy Arnold
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