[skit]



[Busta Rhymes]

yo, it all began like, bust it

My nigga City bout to bounce on a trip

We met some niggas with alot of things they want em to flip

I told my nigga get the dough and keep the blau on your hip

Travel safe, you know that I'ma hold it down on the strip

Good lookin, word to mother son I give you my wit

But when I get back, I'ma bounce straight to your crib

On the strength, son slid until you to the Greyhound

Wit a burner in the knapsack, headed straight outta town

Now, three days pass I'm still on the strip

Doin hand to hand with twelve collapsible, stashable clips

With little magnets on the side of the clips we planted like a project

When police come we stick the clips in any metal object

Throwin a nigga on the walls and try to search me down

I laugh knowin that my stash'll never be found

Well anyway, on the third day, son came straight to the strip

Wit a new floss and shiny shoes on the whip

My nigga hit me with the latest, greatest

He told me get inside the whip so I can know just what the up to date is

He said he fuckin wit some Guyanese niggas how ill them niggas is

What kind of dough they get, and how they handle they biz

How they connect with Jamaician niggas who speak American

And how they chains swung a medallion iced out pelicans

And how they stay wit four pounders

And speak American to try to blend in

Like they aint obvious out of towners

Okay, I've never heard of workers gettin five G's pay

For trips that last for only 2-3 day

How these Guyanese niggas be eatin pasta but they love zucchini

Rockin valor tennis suits by Sergio Tecchini

Them type of cats that call you because you can't call 'em

Rockin baseball fitters with wild animal skins