Live From The Streets Lyrics - Up Close & Personal - Angie Martinez

Ohhhhh senorita when the evening sun go down 

I come to serenade you from another part, of town 

Let's get it on it's Angie Mar' reportin live from the streets 

From Y.O. to Philly and Harlem to Q.B 

When it drops it's game over, you'll see 

Introducing, Jadakiss and Styles P, where you at? 

Yo, yo, yo, yo, yo 

You know we still in the hood dog, in front of the store 

With the work across the street and the gun in the stall 

Soon as somethin happen niggaz wanna run to the law 

You know the code of the streets, never run to the law 

That's why I can't even run 'less I run with a four 

Or I walk with a three, come and talk to 'em P 

You can catch me down bottom with a bird and a glock 

On the block makin money where they murder a lot 

Or you can catch me up top shootin dice for a yard 

I'm talkin six digits, niggaz bet the house or the car 

You can catch me hittin the spliff, sick in the pit 

On the fiend like I'm missin my shit, they think I'm crazy 

Catch me hittin your lady in my Mercedes 

Bird on your baby, fuck you I'm keepin it gravy 

L.O.X. hold the hammers 

Like we waitin for screws 

With Angie Mar' blowin muthafuckers out of they shoes, what? 

Comin live from the streets where some died tryin to eat 

From Y.O. to Philly, from Harlem to Q.B 

And when it drops, game over, you'll see 

Introducin, Beanie Sigel, tell me how you livin? 

Aiyyo, I've been kickin murder since Adidas with thick strings 

T.I. sweatsuits, Pumas with thick chains 

Four finger rings, black belts with brass names 

I was spittin flames since niggaz was pitchin change 

I'm a hard knock kiddo, always played the middle 

Threw flacks in the crack game, getchu if I can getchu 

Since a buck, played the highway, dodgin the troop boys 

Jumpin in and out of Coupes, wavin for Duke boys 

Always chased a penny, copped quarter waters 

Tried to make a dollar chased my pop's boss daughters 

Tryin to make my name, global, in all four corners 

Philly baller, gamin in all four quarters 

Never worked, never will. All my hoes buy my clothes 

I can't go broke, never will. All my bros buy my O's 

I'm the best thing that linked up with New York since Sprewell 

I murder, nuttin further, fill in the details 

I'm here, it's over, fuck how y'all feel 

When I drop, y'all gon' realize it's all real 

Bein left for dead, tied up, smoke 'til I was dried up 

So high up, seem like the sky ducked, high what? 

Life was rough, but now it's nothin to hide 

Used to click and be quick to put this gun to yo' side 

Be like, "That chain nice - I like that pal 

Matter fact I'd like that now." 

You've got game? Call the name, just spell the name right 

Brett, one of the best rappers ever to touch a mic 

It's prophecized I'd write, spit scriptures mind blowin 

'Til my coffin top close and heaven skies open 

Fear no man's my slogan, I hope y'all believe 

I'm just like you, fear nuttin human that bleeds 

My mind breed two movies, six ab-lums, a hundred poems 

Thirty RandB joints, I'm beyond the norm, y'all just mad 

I'm just glad, got my time to shine 

Y'all the type to hit three hundred bars and run out of rhymes 

Brett, from my ByStorm family, with Angie 

Come live from the streets, from Harlem to Q.B 

And when it drops, game over, you'll see 

Introducin, finally, the legendary Kool G 

It's B.G.S. kid so what you facin? Caps racin 

Decapitation twenty buck-fifties and lacerations 

Guerilla fam' camouflaged out in the grass waitin 

To blass your nation slash like Jason and bash your face in 

We ass lacin top bodies and half in the basement 

Our style, cast you so bad you'll need plastic replacement 

When gats is raised in, fascination blastin and blazin 

Evacuation for your whole staff there's gas in the tank and 

Gets back abrasions from cap grazin, defy gravitation 

Pull my shit back squeeze bust it like masturbation 

Hold fort, hold the blow torch, leave your soul scorched 

With no remorse, the state of New York, get your shit caught 

When niggaz hawk, let the fifth talk 

So tell me who's the next man to flip? 

I stop the beef shit, with rubber handled grips 

Your candle get lit, guerilla shit feed us banana clips 

The hammers hit, anything in our range we dismantle it 

Like to say thanks to my street correspondents, for gettin on this 

Comin live and direct with no nonsense 

Sorry folks for hurtin y'all, the previous has been brought to you 

By "Up Close and Personal"