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lirik lagu the diplomats - bout it bout it... part iii

[intro: master p (cam’ron)]
yo cam, let’s flip this thing on these n-ggas
ya’heard me
(let’s do it my n-gga) well do your dizang
(there’s nothing, man) (up top, down south, right)
oh yeah, oh yeah (we bout it)
aiight whoadie (yeah)
yo, this one here goes out to them boys
that’s bout it bout it, master p, cam’ron
we taking this from the south to the east, uhhhhh

[verse 1: cam’ron]
i represent, where them k!llers at?
145th and broadway, you get your head cracked
get your legs snapped, arm-twist, ribs cracked
wig tapped, “play fair!”, day care, kids napped
you think you real? well, my posse is crazier
your moms? mobbing and raping her, saudi arabia
i’m ’89 tho’, audi and avias
beef in n.o., i had to call no limit up
baby mac, baby gat, sh-t to wake the baby up
my baby boo, cop the x5: that’s a baby truck
santana rolling big, jimmy in the caddy
dayton, youngstown, cleveland, cincinnati
in the double-o, i represent the c-o
please hoe, harlem world, 40th: that’s me yo
clips, 11 off, bricks, get 7 off
snow so white only thing missin’ is seven dwarfs

[chorus: master p]
k!lla cam, you know he bout it bout it
jim jones, you know he bout it bout it
freekey z, you know he bout it bout it
santana, that boy bout it bout it
harlem world, you know they bout it bout it
diplomats, you know they rowdy, rowdy
145th and broadway, them boys real
you know them boys they don’t play

[verse 2: cam’ron]
k!lla.. ay yo, i’m bouncing through an ounce or two
my crib look like the fontainebleau
a fountain too – no water, only pumping mountain dew
front on y’all little cats i was bound to do
i made it where chickenheads can’t pr-nounce my shoes
i got head, but need more mouth
119th to the wh0r-house, soon as the tour’s out
papi’s rotten, my block top and spot be popping
i pop ack over some oxycontin
cotton club and roxy robins
rubies and rocks we popping
booties, uzis and glocks’ll stop ’em
battery on his head: copper-top him
when i’m in the building dog, you’ve got to watch him
got to spot him, tre-8 a floor revolve him
the d.a., sergeant and coroner’s problem, now
highs get 8 done, dipset don’t play none
jim jones, freekey, k!lla and the great one (santana)

[verse 3: jim jones]
you know i claim (what you claim?) where them gangstas bang
15th and lenox, 9- tre, they do they own thing
in uptown, up on 40 a phat sean hit the block
dog, he move that water sh-t
he like the network over wet work
you come up short on that paper, get a wet shirt
then if you walking through foster and taft
flossing that cash them gangstas put the torch to your -ss
and i can’t forget ak and wagner
my dogs straight crazy cause the ak’ll blast ya
one calling daddy sheik and q
lb’s and sally beat your crew, now come on, sh-t
and dope stacks, right in front the liquor store
hennessy, lil me, me you know they flipped the raw
my dipset, oh yeah they bout it
16 shots up out the glock, i come up out it

[verse 4: master p]
i represent the south, now the world gon’ feel us
worth $400 mil’, still dump with gorillas
i’m in the project posted up, like toys ‘r us
retire my jersey — 65 for every chicken i plucked
p-ss the purple stuff, whoadie, it’s time to get swerk
up on the block, 1,000 grams on hogan and kirk
we in them t-shirts and doo rags
females all fall back when the no limit boys in the house
haters get back, hot one hold it down
in foreign ghettoes, big boys, uptown, russian (?)
c-murder locked up, but his name still ringing
me and silk getting yoked, riding, hustling and slanging
you know we bout it, i mean we rowdy!
new orleans to the atl: you know they bout it bout it
st. louis, they keep it sw-nging
l.a. to las vegas, them homies out there gang banging
oklahoma to tennessee, them boys ain’t playing
cause you know they b-o-u-t
texas, florida; detroit, georgia
them boys dunn graduated from an 8th up on to water-water
kansas bout it. virginia rowdy!
illinois boys to mississippi: bout it bout it
new york, arizona, the bay area, the whole california!
north carolina, south carolina: throw dem bows
pennsylvania, alabama: bout to let ’em know
missouri rowdy, boston bout it!
the new no limit, roc-a-fella, is bout it bout it

- lirik lagu the diplomats

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