Guess Who's Back

Talk to me man...
 This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the muh'fuckin noise up
 We'll get right into the proceedings this evening
 Headphones are distortin, bring it down a lil' bit
 Okay - now we workin wit it
 The boy Face on the bassline, Face - Mob!
 Welcome to New York City... it's ya boy Young Hov' chea
 Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's goin on now?
 Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
 Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)
 Lemme talk to these muh'fuckas, uhh
 Guess who's bizack?
 You still smellin crack in my clothes
 Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes
 Take it back out to taxin them roads
 When I was huggin it, niggaz couldn't do nuttin wit it
 Straight from the oven wit it - came from the dirt
 I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
 You can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me
 Still with me, pain plus work
 Shit she made me milk this game for all it's worth
 That's right, these niggaz can't fuck with me
 I'm callin guts everytime, drag my nuts everytime
 Homey, we make a great combination don't we?
 Me and the Face Mob, everytime we face-off
 Face it y'all, y'all niggaz playin basic ball
 I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall
 Homey, I'm in the drop with the AC on
 That's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!
 Guess who's bizack?
 Back on the block with the old Face Mob
 Mack Mittens and Hov'
 Don't make me relapse
 Back to the block with the fo'
 Cuz this street shit is all I know
 From the womb to the tomb - a hot pot of joy and a spoon
 Tryna make me forty thousand and move
 Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons
 Plain clothes wanna run in my room (whooooo...)
 But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob
 Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawg
 Give niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game go
 Fuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)
 I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chase
 I wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
 Don't got no wholesale, cuz that ain't how I wanna run it
 Here take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
 Gotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do
 The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool
 Money is an issue - and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
 Ya block warm, then I come by with the fizzle
 And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
 We go to war and you ain't makin a dime (ha ha!)
 Cuz I got, shit to lose - a nigga out here payin his dues
 My baby walkin gotta get him some shoes
 It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
 Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues
 It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
 Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!
 Guess who's bizack?
 The boy B. Mizack - a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-Brick
 Turn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered this
 You can smell it once the plastic rips
 A hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked
 You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't hafta pitch
 Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
 Young'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz
 And keep ya whole hood on flip - like old box-spring
 Pissy mattress shit, low old box of things
 Strictly glassy shit - I hug the block like quarter waters
 Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
 Till like deuce in the mornin, with the old heads
 Slangin loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)
 Still fuckin with them crack addicts
 Still bustin with that black-matic
 
 Talk to me man...
 This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the muh'fuckin noise up
 We'll get right into the proceedings this evening
 Headphones are distortin, bring it down a lil' bit
 Okay - now we workin wit it
 The boy Face on the bassline, Face - Mob!
 Welcome to New York City... it's ya boy Young Hov' chea
 Kanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's goin on now?
 Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minute
 Just gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)
 Lemme talk to these muh'fuckas, uhh
 Guess who's bizack?
 You still smellin crack in my clothes
 Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes
 Take it back out to taxin them roads
 When I was huggin it, niggaz couldn't do nuttin wit it
 Straight from the oven wit it - came from the dirt
 I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
 You can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me
 Still with me, pain plus work
 Shit she made me milk this game for all it's worth
 That's right, these niggaz can't fuck with me
 I'm callin guts everytime, drag my nuts everytime
 Homey, we make a great combination don't we?
 Me and the Face Mob, everytime we face-off
 Face it y'all, y'all niggaz playin basic ball
 I'm on the block like I'm eight feet tall
 Homey, I'm in the drop with the AC on
 That's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!
 Guess who's bizack?
 Back on the block with the old Face Mob
 Mack Mittens and Hov'
 Don't make me relapse
 Back to the block with the fo'
 Cuz this street shit is all I know
 From the womb to the tomb - a hot pot of joy and a spoon
 Tryna make me forty thousand and move
 Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons
 Plain clothes wanna run in my room (whooooo...)
 But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob
 Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawg
 Give niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game go
 Fuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)
 I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chase
 I wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
 Don't got no wholesale, cuz that ain't how I wanna run it
 Here take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
 Gotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend do
 The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool
 Money is an issue - and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
 Ya block warm, then I come by with the fizzle
 And make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
 We go to war and you ain't makin a dime (ha ha!)
 Cuz I got, shit to lose - a nigga out here payin his dues
 My baby walkin gotta get him some shoes
 It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
 Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues
 It's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rules
 Get outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!
 Guess who's bizack?
 The boy B. Mizack - a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-Brick
 Turn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered this
 You can smell it once the plastic rips
 A hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked
 You can make ya chips swell up, ya don't hafta pitch
 Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
 Young'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz
 And keep ya whole hood on flip - like old box-spring
 Pissy mattress shit, low old box of things
 Strictly glassy shit - I hug the block like quarter waters
 Shit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
 Till like deuce in the mornin, with the old heads
 Slangin loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)
 Still fuckin with them crack addicts
 Still bustin with that black-matic