I'm not trying to be nosey babe oh no
I'm not trying to give you no advice
(Hovie's home)
I don't plan to be (New addition to the roc) no philosopher
But I still know this is the life Baby Baby

You gotta let this one breathe, just
Just let it breathe for a sec
Yup, Hovi's home
Newest edition to the Roc
M.O.P.
The Blueprint 2 is on its way
I know ya hear my footsteps out there, comin'
Let's go get 'em just

Time to duck, fire
Duck, fire, duck, fire
Duck, fire, duck, fire!

(You Don't know what you're doing, doing, doing, doing)

It's the MOP (Yes)
In a zip-code that's
1, 1, 2, 3, 3
And motherfucker we coming, 100 miles and gunning
I'm still running with cash that's robbed
From the era of exhale 80's and hats back stomp
(Same game!) operation for this industry lock down
We still tote hammers that go...
Run up if you wanna, believe me dog
These hammers with they owners, fuck ya G up
Have ya with blue 'jamas in a coma, and
Ya family now moan, look, 70 pounds gone
A little fuck, scribbled up with a hospital down on
(We holding it down holmes!)keep pushing weak frail bastards
To get over, we prowl with slimmer re-shelled tactics
Jiminy frail bastards, your tracks need tune-ups
No limit, what the fuck, recording for nig' junior
(The game ain't changed)it just got harder
Plus we sponsored by laz' Dame Dash and Mr. S. Carter
Brownsville(yep), we stomp in this bitch all day
Rock with my cock out, face the crowd and piss off stage

Uh, Uh, Uh, I'm from the G side of things
Where we ride and bang, where the heat died of flame
That's how we got the name (warriors!)
And better than ya bank, and someone should be tellin 'em
The veterans have came, and we're better in the game
(You better make it rain!) "27 grams" my man
It's better than cocaine, now everything will change
In this family we'll rule the world
And you haters can eat a dick up till you hiccup and erm
A decade on the grind, nigga I paid mine
So it's my time to shine and for you can ride the pine
I wont sit back and rap like these dumb ass kids
I been around, I put it down, I ain't these young ass kids
(MOP!) The OG's repped and survived around this motherfucker
(First family!) We kept it live around this motherfucker
When it's crunch time, we do it our wizzay
For shizzle my nigga, learn to grip pistols and BK

Turn my music high, high, high, high-er
Mo' fire, mo' problems, more Roc-a-wear attire
Mo' money, mo' murder now that M.O.P.'s hired
Mo' murder for the ROC empire, y'all wont surface
Y'all nervous knowing them guns on full service, ready to fire
One body, two body, three body, four
Young sitting on paper, I'm above the law
Young shitting on haters, I ain't fucking with y'all
For my Brownsville neighbors, How About Some Hardcore?
And it just get worser, every time I write my signature in cursive
Just add another million to these verses
One million, two million, three million, four
And the money's really worthless, I'm pissing you off on purpose
My nephew's situated, and my mama's straight
So I'm ready for whatever drama should come our way
And you fuckers rapping to me, so your drama is fake
Y'all niggas is noodles, I got more fetti to bake
Let's get it!

Writer : BYRD, BOBBY / CARTER, SHAWN
Copyright : Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., EMI Music Publishing