• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• Extended Family - Journalist
• Self Explanatory - Journalist
• When It Comes To This Shit - Journalist
• Back Of Da Lack - Journalist

[Verse One: Billy Danze]
Allow me to turn this bitch into Fight Club
That's how my family react when there's no love
Young coward probably nothing repostal slug
I'm tired of niggas hollering (A STRAIGHT THUG)
Yeah whatever, if you ain't ready to rock
And pop-pop-pop-pop, non stop.. (STOP!)
We are ready to rock, and pop-pop-pop-pop
And clear the whole motherfucking block
[Billy Danze right], that's right back on some other shit
Stop doin sucker shit, watch who you fucking with
Know that the meaning of the Danze's man
Know that the meaning of the man's his fam (FIRST FAMILY!)
If you don't like to get to grippin ya thang
If I catch you slipping I'm spitting and splitting ya brain
Praised in the bid of the flame, N-D-O the ability, extended the game [?]
[Chorus]
[Journalist:] We gon' shut this game down, and move on heard
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
[Bill Danze:] We gon' burn this bitch down, and that's my word
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
[Verse Two: Journalist]
South Phil' with Brownsville, damn that sounds ill (SJEEZ)
Now watch me, niggas get found killed
Especially those who wear wires
Find theyself stuck in the trunk, stomach on the street tire
Don't you go try us, shit the Brown stay smoking
You could use the tools for a blow dryer
I don't hold fire, comprende?
Standing there stupid like the Gimbe, I shoot it like M.J
Clap you up then wrap you up in some kintay
Bag you up, then drop you off on your frimway
Before the cops come questioning cats
I'm at the border in a pancho with Mexican hat
For this cheddar y'all be messing with rats so I'ma Swiss Cheeser
'Til there's no bullets left in the gat
Watch what you say to may (me), or before I skate away
I spray A.K., heat your grill like Labor Day
Shit, I do this thing day to day
Y'all new rappers walk around like y'all motherfuckers paved the way
Journalist featuring M.O.P
I'm three letters out the alfabet, look how wild it get
[Chorus]
[Journalist:] We gon' shut this game down, and move on heard
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
[Bill Danze:] We gon' burn this bitch down, and that's my word
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
[Journalist:] Niggas! (UHHNNH)
[Bill Danze:] Bitches! (UHHNNH)
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! [OOOOOH)
[Journalist:] Niggas! (UHHNNH)
[Bill Danze:] Bitches! (UHHNNH)
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard!
[Verse Three: Lil' Fame]
Fame's be like a prayin mantis, fuck who's amp is
Y'all to fuck around, I let the triple fat goose mafia ???
What you champions? I put you on back pressure
Have your grown-ass wearing blue Pampers
Get on a murder out, no need to burn 'em out
We don't cheese 'em cats, heard about word of mouth
And I blast faster, put it on
Nobody see nothing, when po-po ask, they like 'HMMHMM'
Yo, First Fam', full blown blasting
Atlantial Sea, M.O.P. mashing
My niggas held down, throw cocktails in your house
Burn that bitch to a cocktail lounge
Foreby, four runner, for your toy soldiers
Blue steel, I ain't talking Toyota
The game for close ya, close up shop
And put the locks on the game, 'cause the game's all over
[Chorus]
[Journalist:] We gon' shut this game down, and move on heard
[Lil' Fame:] Make yourself be heard! (OOOOOH)
[Bill Danze:] We gon' burn this bitch down, and that's my word

[Journalist]
(Journalist) Uh, Journalist, (idealist), and it's a journey
(I'm the journalist) Urban wars (the flow) I don't fuck around
Crazy World, Motown motherfuckers
Uh, dream team (Idealist, and it's a journey, I'm the Journalist)
I don't fuck around dunny
Yo, aiyyo, right from the gate, dog
It shouldn't be no type of debate
'Bout who's the nicest with a mic and a tape
You know I'm bright in the waist
When I'm shining up the pipe with an eight
Before I leave you with a trifiling face
If you got Salsbury I play Marbury
Hit you with the handle
Before I light you up like the wick that's on a candle
Have your bitch watch shots ripping through your flannel
Lower parts to your heart sticking to her sandals
Journalist, but you can call me tupee splitter
You sweeter than the bottom of your Kool-Aid pitcher
You think it's just music you hear, I bust a few in the air
While your lil' sister's doing your hair
Still in your crib, one shot pilling your wig
I blow out your face, while the chrome's still in your hair
Too severe for a medical truck I could bet a few bucks
They gon' probably have to shovel you up, what
[Hook: Samples + and random DJ scratches]
Idealist, and it's a journey, oh I'm the journalist
The flow, (I don't fuck around)
Uh, Idealist, and it's a journey, oh I'm the journalist
The flow (I don't fuck around, dunny)
[Journalist]
See yo, I keep them business working,
'Till the wrists is hurting
'Till your shit ooze out like this detergent
I still keep the chickens lurking
Got bitches circlin' 'cause they see me in the whip with Erving
I will show you a nina,
If you don't think the hard-toe can turn your torso to a sprinkler
Then I pull off in the beautiful cat,
New Jag, no tints, I'm a beautiful cat
1-6, y'all know what we do to you, black
All my niggas squeeze triggers 'til they cuticles crack
If we got a full clip, we'll be sending you half
Hole in your legs, give your calf a genuine draft
Like the bottle of beer, then a minute you pass
Tap your pockets, see how many Benzes you had
Hit the stack, tell Carl Carl to send a few scags
From my criminal staff from that cynical ave
Machos mothefucker
[Hook]
[Journalist]
See yo, I studied the block, so I got damn good methods
On how to burn strips like I can cook breakfast
You ain't stabilized, it help when your label rise
Every time I turn around, your face in the cable guide
To my rap books, you can find me shackled
Blow out your shit, leave it in your Mommy's scrapple
I could, kindly catch you, let the tommy clap you
For you with more hoes than a Chinese apple
You hit gasoline talk fast and lean
Pop fly, and get left with half a wing
Watch who you talking to get your glasses cleaned
Before I be forced to empty out this magazine
Barrels throwing out twenty like a Jack in Queens
Leave you somewhere throwing up your last (?)
Most of the week, you find Journ over in beats
When it comes to the throne, homes, you just holding my seat, uh

[Verse 1: Journalist]
Ay yo, its Journalist nigga even on my nicer days
I heat you up spin you round, call me microwave
Skate off like at an Ice Capade
With the type of guage that bring the cops out like parades
Leave your family in the triage, second guessin
Graf artist, I'm good with sketchin weapons
Leave emancipations for lacerations
With bunks to gun a pump like I'm half Jamaican
You know the flow fascinatin
Nigga I'm so sharp, when I walk I scratch the pavement
I aim this gat right for your ways
Then I go to your mom's house to give her all types of bouquets
Or I can paralyze half of ya
You don't wanna see your kids laugh at ya
When they see you peein through a catheter
However you want it, you can have it your way
Capital J, and never use a gat for display
[Chorus x2: Journalist]
When it comes to this shit here
Y'all the type to sit there
I'm soon to rock that road, crotched in the big chair
Studded up crown with forty below wristwear
Prove y'all clowns couldn't fuck with the flow this year
[Verse 2: Journalist]
Ay yo, heres a few promises
Turn y'all to vomitters
With different types of heaters if the waste got thermometers
Niggas wanna climb with us
Crazy World conglomerate
Philadelphi dominant
Comin through the monitors
My chumps beat you like drums, quite severe
Then I fuck around and follow up, just like the snear
I don't think you in the right career
Maybe you should go back to cross dressin and them tight brazeers
Cause y'all niggas ride mine, worryin bout my shine
Stay on the sideline and work with the pom-poms
Throw some rounds throw your arm or confetti your sleve
When I'm in town, the sheriffs and the deputies leave
Nigga I ain't got respect for you please
You ain't sittin on dough, you fallin off like sesame seeds
Cause you can't bear pressure
If you don't wear vestes
Crime unit find you I hope they got air freshners
[Chorus x2]
[Verse 3: Journalist]
Yo when the gat is in my distance
I have you datin fishes
Your wive tears drippin on your graduation pictures
Clutch glocks and what not
Rush spots, fuck cops
I got enough shots to get cuz' block dustmopped
When I stop the beamer
Cock the neener
Blood'll pour to the pavement like its Aquafina
Come out on bail, fallin up the cops' subpeana
Come back around, send more shots between ya
Bullets burnin up your femur
Turn into screamers
From uppercut swings of the permanent leaner
Cause the guns I squeeze 'em
If I shoot 'em just once like James Ingram
Watch his brains leave him
I'll be shinin my toys 'til the lost boys
You rather see me sit in the can like Altoids
Ock, I'm on the block, gettin narcs annoyed
Passin out rocks like the Sixers ball boy
Its Journ!

[Journalist]
Yea, leave that track on nigga,
Journalist, king of the ATL my man backbone
Help me my mack on, you know, but yo,
[Sleepy Brown]
From the wood to the leather, to the spinning chrome
It don't matter where you're at, just as long as you're on
In the back of the lack, in the back, back of the lack
In the, in the back of the lack In the back of the lack
In the back, back of the lack, in the, in the back of the lack son
[Journalist]
You see I, dip and dab, I don't stick with scags
I give 'em stuffed knees leave 'em picking scabs
I even had a chick from Yale who was good at licking L's
Nipping wood like a female chippendale
Let her rap, spit some tales, sipping on Zifandel
Turned her out, so I had to get a different cell
It's concrete law, I'm here to school y'all
How to take dude's large right out of the pool hall
The boss of back shots in the bed, I'm a sashquash
I have them putting they twaps in padlocks
When I push the Kangol, lipped on the angle
Cap up he mango for the keys to her Durango
Oh, shit, you know the game, yo, tell her she's my main ho
Then pop the question if she take it in the anal
When it comes to broads, I don't beat around the bush
I just beat the bush, and leave skeeter around her tush
[Hook]
[Backbone]
Call him, H20, he froze ice cold
I come through swerve, keep a crease in my clothes
Uh huh, we stay burning it
Pull up mackidocious with funk and the Journalist
One hummer (uh) the bitch right a matter
Here go the key, I'm in eleven forty three
And action, you already know what's happening
I'm the main feature, she's a coming attraction
The city lights, (hey) lit up the room
(?) 13 got me all up in her womb
Coming soon, yes, she will be
About 4 or 5 times, fucking with me
Believe it, I put wood in your girl 'till you holla STOP
Run and talk about the head of the shop
Oh, it's official, you ain't know?
Get yourself together, let's go
[Hook]
[Journalist]
Yo, what's the deal Back (huh?) let's snatch up this model
In the Elderado, see how well she swallow
Pat the bush like (?) give her the cold shoulder like we roll in Chicago, shit
[Backbone]
Go slow, 'cause she got her buddy with her
Matter fact they sisters, shorty, let's go get her
Cut somethin' somethin', that's the old cliché
Let me get (?) fresh, and I'll be on my way
[Journalist]
Hey, mix semen with her Seagram's extra gin
And send you tease in the mouth give her an extra chin
Think I love these ho's? Shit, guess again (ha-ha)
Call P-Funk, tell a man to bless her friend
[Backbone]
You talking 'bout Lynn? That little short thick broad
Shit, she right, good Lord we can, ride out for some freaky-deaky fun
Stick a thong in 'em 'cause they done
[Sleepy Brown]
When they do these things, they can't help themselves
Man, it's such a good feeling, let us take you there, oh