What Up Lyrics - It Ain't Safe No More... - Busta Rhymes

(scratched: "It's the new!") 

Yeah! Yeah, Busta Bust down, Flipmode now 

I know what y'all feel like doin 

Go 'head and crash your whip in the fuckin wall 

It's cool, niggas. we gets busy 

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(Verse One) 

Fo' sho', spit rogue, get mo' bout to kick in the door 

Dick sore, split whores 'til they shit on the floor 

Clique more sick from when you use to see us before 

Shit, kill a nigga quick, niggas know my rapport 

Keep workers on the strip that be ready for war 

Brick I flip a little quicker if they shit in the store 

Rip, maybe 'til they drop, and they shit in they drawers 

Shit crazy when I pop, and I'm grippin the four 

Thick bitches in the spot, watch 'em strip for the sport 

Spit vicious for the block, yeah we swingin a torch 

Stick niggas for they shit, thank 'em for they support 

Quick nigga, better quit snitchin down at the court 

Check track a little slick and try to go on my Forbes 

Cause we stackin like we rich, and we holdin the fort 

This time, we had to bring it, guess what we brought 

The hottest shit to bang from L.A. to the streets of New York 

Photos 

(Chorus) 

All my people, get drunk, get high - WHATTUP? 

Get money, get rich, get fly - WHATTUP? 

Get stupid, get busy, get live - WHATTUP? 

Jump all in your whip, turn the key and drive - WHATTUP? 

Make a mill' yeah we gon' make about five - WHATTUP? 

We speak the truth and we ain't talkin no jive - WHATTUP? 

I'm speakin to the streets and everybody's widdit - WHATTUP? 

Once again you know we only come to get it - WHATTUP? 

(Verse Two) 

Ha, I stay wicked now I'm back on the strip 

Like I went on a vacation and I'm back from my trip 

Nuff radio rotation like I'm sailin a ship 

Or when the team circle the block, busy trailin my clique 

Truck packed fulla niggas with the strap and the whip 

Get the gat out of the stash, put it back on my hip 

Gat butt you in the face, split and fatten your lip 

Blood hit the floor louder than the clap when it drip 

I credit your name with bullets, read the back of the script 

My victim's initials engraved on the back of the clip 

Chicks love the way we roll, how the movement is thick 

So official like my name's on the back of your bitch 

Pay triple for the name on the back of the stitch 

Name like the whole city now I'm changin the pitch 

Kick back kinda crazy when I'm holdin the fifth 

Think you nicer than the God, shit is only a myth 

Grab ahold of the masses, I was born with a gift 

Niggas be runnin they trap, throw 'em over the cliff 

Thinkin and drinkin the Guinness, busy holdin the spliff 

Flippin and shittin on niggas 'til we old and we stiff 

I don't even drive whips, throw the shit on the lift 

12 hours, one worker do the whole of the shift 

I do the thing to make you open your mouth 

And give you shit to bang the Midwest and the rest of the South 

(Chorus)