Whutcha Want? Lyrics - Nine

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 Roddy 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 bologna 

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 

(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 

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! 

(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