[skit]
[Busta Rhymes]
yo, it all began like, bust it
My nigga City bout to bounce on a trip
We met some niggas with alot of things they want em to flip
I told my nigga get the dough and keep the blau on your hip
Travel safe, you know that I'ma hold it down on the strip
Good lookin, word to mother son I give you my wit
But when I get back, I'ma bounce straight to your crib
On the strength, son slid until you to the Greyhound
Wit a burner in the knapsack, headed straight outta town
Now, three days pass I'm still on the strip
Doin hand to hand with twelve collapsible, stashable clips
With little magnets on the side of the clips we planted like a project
When police come we stick the clips in any metal object
Throwin a nigga on the walls and try to search me down
I laugh knowin that my stash'll never be found
Well anyway, on the third day, son came straight to the strip
Wit a new floss and shiny shoes on the whip
My nigga hit me with the latest, greatest
He told me get inside the whip so I can know just what the up to date is
He said he fuckin wit some Guyanese niggas how ill them niggas is
What kind of dough they get, and how they handle they biz
How they connect with Jamaician niggas who speak American
And how they chains swung a medallion iced out pelicans
And how they stay wit four pounders
And speak American to try to blend in
Like they aint obvious out of towners
Okay, I've never heard of workers gettin five G's pay
For trips that last for only 2-3 day
How these Guyanese niggas be eatin pasta but they love zucchini
Rockin valor tennis suits by Sergio Tecchini
Them type of cats that call you because you can't call 'em
Rockin baseball fitters with wild animal skins
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