Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah uh, uh, uh
Yeah
Baby mama let's roll, here we go, Cheerio
Serial killa with the flow and the
Blow and the dro'
And the gun go ring, hit 'em all in a row
AK-47, 40-Glock, 44
Let 'em know from the door
How it go, it's not a joke
There's gon' be a homicide i'mma ride
I'mma rep me a nigga up in the box
And send 'em to his folks, his bloods
His kin the drama it don't end, bust a gun
Bust a nigga's face open with the hand
Tell 'em go tell a friend, tell a cop
Tell the FEDS i don't give a mothaf*ck
You niggas and the pigs
I'mma let the world see
You, you're a bitch, you're a snitch
I'mma Mobb Deep gangsta, Infamous soldier
If you got a cold heart then
My shit just froze over
Range Rover, Chevy Suburban
The bullet proof trim
The windows on the crib, bullet proof them
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Ay' let's go yeah, yeah I'm for the drama
But I'm so laid back a nigga get at me I'm
Gon' get 'em right back
I will say that, my flows so crack
You could put 'em in redtops
And bump that back
On the block or the corner
You slip you a goner
Your nose's getting warmer
The Ds out for ya
Get money-money or take money-money
Always on my fly shit never
Catch the kid bummy
Shorty on my nuts like sweats
And it taste like metal said that's
Where I keep the Tec
What do you expect, ho niggas from let go
Me and him was cool
Just a mothaf*cking sec ago
Shit, Hav' a professional
Nigga kill the noise
You ain't mothaf*cking techno
Boy I get several, things that severe you
Can't see hell
Come here here's a better view
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Prodigy - Dirty New Yorker Lyrics
Prodigy - Dirty New Yorker Lyrics
Official
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah uh, uh, uh
Yeah
Baby mama let's roll, here we go, Cheerio
Serial killa with the flow and the
Blow and the dro'
And the gun go ring, hit 'em all in a row
AK-47, 40-Glock, 44
Let 'em know from the door
How it go, it's not a joke
There's gon' be a homicide i'mma ride
I'mma rep me a nigga up in the box
And send 'em to his folks, his bloods
His kin the drama it don't end, bust a gun
Bust a nigga's face open with the hand
Tell 'em go tell a friend, tell a cop
Tell the FEDS i don't give a mothaf*ck
You niggas and the pigs
I'mma let the world see
You, you're a bitch, you're a snitch
I'mma Mobb Deep gangsta, Infamous soldier
If you got a cold heart then
My shit just froze over
Range Rover, Chevy Suburban
The bullet proof trim
The windows on the crib, bullet proof them
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Ay' let's go yeah, yeah I'm for the drama
But I'm so laid back a nigga get at me I'm
Gon' get 'em right back
I will say that, my flows so crack
You could put 'em in redtops
And bump that back
On the block or the corner
You slip you a goner
Your nose's getting warmer
The Ds out for ya
Get money-money or take money-money
Always on my fly shit never
Catch the kid bummy
Shorty on my nuts like sweats
And it taste like metal said that's
Where I keep the Tec
What do you expect, ho niggas from let go
Me and him was cool
Just a mothaf*cking sec ago
Shit, Hav' a professional
Nigga kill the noise
You ain't mothaf*cking techno
Boy I get several, things that severe you
Can't see hell
Come here here's a better view
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Yeah
Baby mama let's roll, here we go, Cheerio
Serial killa with the flow and the
Blow and the dro'
And the gun go ring, hit 'em all in a row
AK-47, 40-Glock, 44
Let 'em know from the door
How it go, it's not a joke
There's gon' be a homicide i'mma ride
I'mma rep me a nigga up in the box
And send 'em to his folks, his bloods
His kin the drama it don't end, bust a gun
Bust a nigga's face open with the hand
Tell 'em go tell a friend, tell a cop
Tell the FEDS i don't give a mothaf*ck
You niggas and the pigs
I'mma let the world see
You, you're a bitch, you're a snitch
I'mma Mobb Deep gangsta, Infamous soldier
If you got a cold heart then
My shit just froze over
Range Rover, Chevy Suburban
The bullet proof trim
The windows on the crib, bullet proof them
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Ay' let's go yeah, yeah I'm for the drama
But I'm so laid back a nigga get at me I'm
Gon' get 'em right back
I will say that, my flows so crack
You could put 'em in redtops
And bump that back
On the block or the corner
You slip you a goner
Your nose's getting warmer
The Ds out for ya
Get money-money or take money-money
Always on my fly shit never
Catch the kid bummy
Shorty on my nuts like sweats
And it taste like metal said that's
Where I keep the Tec
What do you expect, ho niggas from let go
Me and him was cool
Just a mothaf*cking sec ago
Shit, Hav' a professional
Nigga kill the noise
You ain't mothaf*cking techno
Boy I get several, things that severe you
Can't see hell
Come here here's a better view
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens in this bitch fall back
Or get roped up
You're f*cking with a Dirty New Yorker
Queens mothaf*cka, move and get smoked up
Writer: ALBERT JOHNSON, ALAN MAMAN
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Royalty Network
Copyright: Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, Royalty Network