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View Poll Results: Rate USA

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  • 5 Star Classic

    1 33.33%
  • 4 Star Banger

    1 33.33%
  • 3 Star Decent

    1 33.33%
  • 2 Star Boring

    0 0%
  • 1 Star Wack

    0 0%
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Thread: USA - Track Review

  1. #1

    Default USA - Track Review

    USA

    The Problem - Mathematics
    2005

    Ghostface Killah
    Masta Killa
    Todd
    Panama P.I.
    Eyeslow
    Hot Flamez
    T-Slugz
    Buddah Bless

    Mathematics




    (Ghostface Killah)

    Walked up in the party like Riz', Ghost, Meth
    Allah's on the wheels, Chef on the left
    Fifty rep chin ups, the Wu rims up
    Put down the Heiney for a sec, tie my Timb's up
    Cake the Benz up, Starks ole'
    Got the summer house crib, beats spun, murder you, than lay
    Ric Flair cabbage and carrots, big exotic boat trips
    The honey motion, wind up in Paris

    [Chorus]

    Had a bad dream and it came to me
    That I died and went to heaven, ain't have no weed
    God said "Son, let me see your ID"
    *Buddah Bless* gotta be right behind me
    Which reminds me..

    (Buddah Bless)

    B, I'm just a thug
    After hip hop, money, sex and drugs
    After chicks that got money and tech's with slugs
    You see the head to toe, yo, the way I dress is love
    Plus them nine bang quick
    And the hand game speak for itself
    Like sign language, you lost and shook
    Like the fish that got away, man, I'm off the hook
    When these niggaz gotta pay, get it off the books

    (Masta Killa)

    Yo, knocked on a humble, slid through the system
    Bag me a C-Wall, on the bench of the bullpen
    My speaker for the pillow, my locked down presidents
    Conflictors, for the robbers and jukers
    The buck fifty stitch zippers, if you wit us
    From my Chi-Town thugs to my Killa Cali gangstas
    Minnesota Wolves, Philly Six shooters
    We ain't chuck potent, we off money throw up

    (T-Slugz)

    It don't mean nothing to me
    Y'all can't get nothing from me, stop frontin' from me and
    Y'all ain't got nothing for me
    I take you where you want it to be, I'm who you wanted to see
    And I'm that same dude, that came through
    Runnin' with the same crew, still here, reppin' all the same rules
    CD's easy to move, honey say I'm easy to choose, that ain't easy to you
    And I stand out, big time, y'all easy to lose
    Niggaz face all screwed, I'm just breakin' the news
    And we do this for the cash, still keep a stash in a brown paper bag
    Me and my nigga Mad, light skinned, dark skinned, we lovin', what an ass
    Slow that thing down, ma, you movin' too fast

    (Panama P.I.)

    Yo, you movin' to fast
    Watch P.I., throw the shit on smash
    This game is high risk, player
    Strictly for brick breakers and brick layers, spit razors
    Jewel gem star, ball with the players, who grab the rim hard
    Walk on dot, and it's the P on hard
    When it's off season, I bring the pain 'til your balls bleeding
    Quick as a Porsche speed, my niggaz floss frequent
    Catch us up in court reading, with a
    Couple of sons, that's used to hustlin' drums
    I guess that's the only way we double our funds
    Everything hardcore, when we slide in the door
    Wait 'til we go back on tour
    New exclusive joint, two thousand and - and

    [Chorus]

    (Eyeslow)

    I walk with crooks, love guns, married to gats
    That Cali' detach, your back from that battery pack
    My salary stack, chain make these other niggaz hurl
    Yeah it's O and G, I'm O and P in other nigga's girl
    I ain't lovin' nigga's girl, I'm just training, just banging
    Just hanging, smokin' while my other nigga's twirl
    (It's a gutter nigga's world) I'm all about the cheddar, man
    Any problems you want, speak to my Beretta, man

    (Hot Flames)

    I was taught from young, that, live is what you making it
    Stuck on the crooked road, but I was taught to straighten it
    Every track flamin' it, every gat, aimin' it
    Before I start sprayin' it, and then I start banging it
    Strong arm, I'm claimin' it, if I bring a chick to the crib
    And she ain't my wifey, then we clangin' it
    Spit hard, probably cuz I'm missing my fam
    If it's beef, y'all niggaz better 'dip' like Cam

    (Todd)

    Son, you get mine, get knocked, and then I just get time
    But I'm a hit the boy hard, just like you was a punchline
    You spit, oh shit, call this here, lunch time
    I'm a throw hot sauce all over that lunch rhyme
    Rap for days, that'll blow like grenades
    Flow so hot, it'll make 'em run for shade
    Nowadays, the D's gettin' niggaz, picked up
    So I hustle and sit up and let God big up
    Fag, they call me Betty, cuz I got that ready rock
    For any nigga that's ready to go inside the baker shop
    Money mean a lot so I keeps mine in the wall
    You the type that get a dollar and go and run to the store
    Not me, each dollar I get, I make a copy
    To let y'all know, for the love of this, I was the body
    Looks are deceiving, so I'm askin' y'all to try me
    Man was the one, who made hand guns a hobby

    [Chorus x2]
    Last edited by beautifulcock; 01-11-2010 at 04:25 PM.
    Quote Originally Posted by IrOnMaN View Post
    If your posts are not relevant to the thread or if there's a strong indication of trolling/rudeness/slander, the post will be deleted. As a moderator, it's my job to moderate to the best of my ability.

  2. #2

    Default

    I'm all about the cheddar, man
    Any problems you want, speak to my Beretta, man



    shit had me dyin' man
    Quote Originally Posted by IrOnMaN View Post
    If your posts are not relevant to the thread or if there's a strong indication of trolling/rudeness/slander, the post will be deleted. As a moderator, it's my job to moderate to the best of my ability.

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