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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Black Rob
Black Rob
Vocals
Deri "D-Dot" Angellettie
Deri "D-Dot" Angellettie
Programming
Mario Winans
Mario Winans
Programming
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Additional Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Robert Ross
Robert Ross
Songwriter
Sean Combs
Sean Combs
Songwriter
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
Songwriter
D. Abrahams
D. Abrahams
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
D. Abrahams
D. Abrahams
Vocal Producer
Lynn Montrose
Lynn Montrose
Assistant Engineer
Paul Logus
Paul Logus
Mixing Engineer
P. Diddy
P. Diddy
Producer
Ed Raso
Ed Raso
Recording Engineer
Stephen Dent
Stephen Dent
Recording Engineer
Harve "Joe Hooker" Pierre
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 Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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