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Face Off (Produced by DJ Premier)

Yo a lot of people depend on me (strongly)

I no longer wanna press them situations wrongly

They say that a man's life, gon' be what it's gon' be

So I switched the game around, and now it's on me

(You control your destiny) You niggas keep testin me

Like you want me to show you how messy a mess can be

(You're still a bang-banger) One of Saratoga's finest

?? ?? attention now (??) makin your highnessYo Bill, what'd you stop for man, what'd you stop for?

Teach 'em, tell 'em how you feel!As I struggle to get my hands, on a dollar today

I think back about cats, that have passed away

That's why I feel more cursed than blessed

And I wonder what in this world, more worse than stress

I'm a mess with stress, though I present it with finesse

Sometimes I feel as if my heart is comin out my chest

I smoke too many ciggarettes; and the Remi won't

Wash away the pain or get, strain off my brain

See it's the way, we, roll down here, stroll down here

A shootout, is like a common cold out here

That's why I sit back and I laugh at y'all

When it's crunchtime on the frontline, I will blast at y'all

I'm from Saratoga Avenue, I +HAD+ to brawl

It's where I realized it's a cold world, after all

You hear me talkin to ya? I'm on some grown Danze shit

(You'll be comin of age) My life is on a different page;

Able to tame my rage

A little bit different from the first time I picked up a gauge

A little bit different from the first time I stepped on a stage

Take a look at me now; a born winner

In a race against time, like Bruce Jenner

A natural born sinner, can't nobody tame me, or change me

(For no reason at all he's angry, he'll) kill again!You are now tuned in to the Works of Mart

Take two steps back it's gon' hurt you pah!

Who the fuck talkin that they gon' hurt Jamal?

This ain't no diamond-studded rapper, it's the lover-stutter-slapper

Unpretty type rapper, gritty type rapper

Fo'-five semi-automatic pipe clapper

With them O.G.'s in it, please don't get your shit twisted

Like bamboo with no trees in it

Fall back, motherfucker you can't beat me

It's the Womack, the extension of Danzini

We came into the game with some change for train fare

Two Phillies, a dime bag, and a forty ounce of beer

Now look at him, they hittin the scene slow

Who grindin, who thieves, but I'm lookin mean yo

With a gangster lean though, big dog in it

With my chrome ten inch hubcaps, but I keep 'em clean doe

I know the pros and cons so I married the game

Now it's mommy's little boy left to carry the name

I'm in the streets like a dopefiend with a shoppin cart filled up with copper

Who the fuck gon' stop Fame?

Y'all niggas keep waitin til they pop Fame

And hold your breath while you wait bitch, I got game

Niggas ain't feelin the Fame bitch? Stop dreamin

I'm the shit that felt good comin out of my pop's semen

Hit the streets and thug with me

No matter how disgruntled you sound nigga, you can't fuck with me

Too many dick riders that's quick to go blaow

But look bitch, I'mma let you know now

You fuckin with thugs, what the fuck you think this was?

I'm what you want me to be, stop fuckin with me

Cause I'm a nigga of the earth (earth) nigga of the sea (sea)

Nigga of the sky and fire, fling fire

Why don't I-ah, dump back at your men

It's M.O.P. and we at it again, ah-heh!

I ain't clappin over your head

I'mma make sure I pop somethin through ya

Givin motherfuckers ulcers with lead

Have your parents and the pastor huddled over your bed

May the Lord be with you, game over, you're dead

Motherfucker!

Songwriters

J. GRINNAGE / E. MURRY / C. MARTINPublished by

Lyrics © Royalty Network Song Discussions is protected by U.S. Patent 9401941. Other patents pending.

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