Streets Is Callin' - Pete Rock, Diamond D, Ed O.G

Yeah, Edo.

G, nigga

Uh, Diamond D, nigga

Jaysaun, nigga

Yeah.

what!

Yo

I spit the factuals, planned out tactical to capture you

No preservatives, additives, all natural

I’m too practical, makin hits don’t tacker you

Ball in TWO eras, like Shaq or Bob McAdoo

The 80s' showed us what the guns and crack’ll do

Shackle you, you movin forward or you standing still

The look of hate, we try to avoid

Cause it’s easily annoyed when it’s hungry or unemployed

Before my team gets deployed, and shit gets destroyed

Life is not to be lost, it’s to be enjoyed

When lights flash off, ideas get passed off

You either doin nothing or you workin your ass off

There ain’t no in-between, when you intervene

Especially when you in the Bean, get blown to smithereens

You ain’t gotta agree or okay it

Disagree with what I say, but respect my right to say it mother-

(Edo.G)

If you listen real close, my nigga, you gon' hear the streets callin (callin)

While you stuck in that 9-to-5, we chillin overseas toruin (we tourin)

You swear that you rock the spot but, son, your stage show’s boring (boring)

The answering machine is full so tell these hoes stop callin (stop callin)

When the four-fifths lift, it’ll shift all your back discs

Iron wrist style with a swift spinnin back fist

Knock you off your axis, we do this just for practice

Maybe just to keep the skills sharper than the cactus

We don’t fear none, never shotta fear one

Walk through the city, torch your hood with a flare gun

In LA, sip Parrot Bay and Lime Rickey

Rock Chuckers and crisp Dickies, grinnin and sportin big hickeys

Diamond D, Jaysaun, and Edo.

G

Swiss cheese you with the chrome max for snitchin on them phone taps

Organized crime, we buggin on your landlines

It’s us who booby-trapped your tour bus with the landmines

We ride in Mass plates in Celtics jerseys

Assassinatin rappers from Cali to the Tri-State

You in a deep sleep, physique street sweeped

In your Jeep, slumped over in them burgandy seats

We gon' miss you

Yo, now when the bulls come runnin, I’ma plead the fifth

Screamin out the sunroof like, «Eat a dick!»

You can find me at the Four Seasons beatin a chick

And I’m old school, I still smoke weed in the flicks

So what the fuck y’all want from me?

I don’t play those games son, nobody gotta front for me

You a girly man, couldn’t do a 1-to-3

And you’ll get it in the back if you run from me

Exqui-zy, I’ma raise the stakes

I got 'em in the kitchen butt naked, whippin up eggs and steaks

And if I, let off two shots, your legs’ll break

Get my hands on the pipe, give your man a white

Niggas heavy on the lactose and light on the raw

And you feel like a man when you fightin your whore

Gave me a funny look and landed right on the floor

And you can still see the knuckle prints right on your jaw