Whutcha Want?

I gets banned if I do gets banned if I don't
 So sometimes I will and sometimes I won't
 Puff mad stick crack a forty down the back
 Sit fat and relax and plan my attack
 Not the one to test I posess mad finesse
 My buddha was blessed one bird in the nest
 Chills with my peeps steady bouncing in jeeps
 on the New York streets hittin urban concrete
 I'm the man untestable, with the extraterrestrial flow
 Fo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the forty ounce bottle
 I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the role model
 Hollow tips in my clips money grip and my Glock
 only spits when I react to the bullshit
 So give me room to breathe and get up off DEEZ
 And save the confessions for JEESuz
 Plus I don't need to hear no sorrow
 Eff it, the sun will still come out tomorrow
 Long as I'm breathing, needing, even like Steven
 Achieving, gettin some cheese and
 representin lovely, Boogie Down Bronx major
 with the project flavor, I made ya, daze ya
 My behavior is mad ill if you front
 You know what I want!
 (Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my rhymes
 (So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines
 (So whutcha want Nine?) A ill posse
 and my name up in lights, N-I-N-E
 I'ma let you know how I feel on the real
 I pack steel it's like a jungle makes me wonder where my eel is
 Hits the bricks skips the dog shit complete in my cipher
 Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper like a viper
 I'ma strike if I got it goin for the jugular
 Stretch you like a copper
 Stoppah, stoppah, but you can't stop me
 Just clock me, just watch me blow up the spot G
 Came a long way from, back in the day
 we did it for no pay, just rhymin hit the hay and
 sleep, wake up, write another rhyme
 Hit the park after dark drop the beat one time
 That's when shit was real, no phonies no baloney
 Just the homemade mics and wheels of steel
 Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the street light
 Everything right, jam over a street fight
 Back to the lab I grab my pen and pad
 Raw lyrics make a fleuredoscad
 Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken wings and rice
 A forty ounce a nickel bag to get nice
 And now I might make a million, and still son
 it makes the heart pump, you know what I want
 Be like Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht
 Brand new Glock non-stop hip-hop
 Remote control boombox lampin on my dresser
 The God ain't no lesser as the pressure comes to test ya
 Hundred pound weight around the neck, daily
 nuff treasons nuff reasons like Philip Bailey
 Can't get enough of that funky stuff
 Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is phenomenal
 Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the metal
 Speed like Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and erase ya
 Right off the pape I roll a big fat spliff
 Four-fifth on the hip, Heineken in the grip shit I'm ready
 Get the keys for the jeep, let's bounce
 Cruise avenues, get some brews and sing the blues with the
 Funkmaster Flex cassette in the deck
 I'm in effect I move my neck while Son gets wreck
 Oh what a feeling, I'm on the wheels of steel and
 I snatch up some skins for some sexual healing
 Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop moves me
 soothes me, I'm letting off like an uzi
 But first steps a doozy and bruise me
 Now I'm choosy before I start to freak it like a floozy
 I wanna get big get paid true stunt
 You know what I want!