Lirik Lagu Guess Who's Back - Scarface F/ Beanie Sigel, Jay-Z
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[Jay-Z talking]Talk to me man...This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the muh'fuckin noise upWe'll get right into the proceedings this eveningHeadphones are distortin, bring it down a lil' bitOkay - now we workin wit itThe boy Face on the bassline, Face - Mob!Welcome to New York City... it's ya boy Young Hov' cheaKanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's goin on now?Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minuteJust gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)Lemme talk to these muh'fuckas, uhh
[Jay-Z]Guess who's bizack?You still smellin crack in my clothesDon't make me have to relapse on these hoesTake it back out to taxin them roadsWhen I was huggin it, niggaz couldn't do nuttin wit itStraight from the oven wit it - came from the dirtI emerged from it all without a stain on my shirtYou can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in meStill with me, pain plus workShit she made me milk this game for all it's worthThat's right, these niggaz can't fuck with meI'm callin guts everytime, drag my nuts everytimeHomey, we make a great combination don't we?Me and the Face Mob, everytime we face-offFace it y'all, y'all niggaz playin basic ballI'm on the block like I'm eight feet tallHomey, I'm in the drop with the AC onThat's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!
[Hook]Guess who's bizack?Back on the block with the old Face MobMack Mittens and Hov'Don't make me relapseBack to the block with the fo'Cuz this street shit is all I know
[Scarface]From the womb to the tomb - a hot pot of joy and a spoonTryna make me forty thousand and moveMotels, star-studded, rock stars and goonsPlain clothes wanna run in my room (whooooo...)But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face MobStarted with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawgGive niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game goFuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chaseI wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88Don't got no wholesale, cuz that ain't how I wanna run itHere take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundredGotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend doThe fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets foolMoney is an issue - and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzleYa block warm, then I come by with the fizzleAnd make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the timeWe go to war and you ain't makin a dime (ha ha!)Cuz I got, shit to lose - a nigga out here payin his duesMy baby walkin gotta get him some shoesIt's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the bluesIt's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!
[Beanie Sigel]Guess who's bizack?The boy B. Mizack - a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-BrickTurn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered thisYou can smell it once the plastic ripsA hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clickedYou can make ya chips swell up, ya don't hafta pitchPlay them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switchYoung'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitzAnd keep ya whole hood on flip - like on box-springPissy Mack and shit, low old box of thingsStrictly glassy shit - I hug the block like a quart of waterShit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarterTill like deuce in the mornin, with the old headsSlangin loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)Still fuckin with them crack addictsStill bustin with that black-matic
[Hook]
*whistling till fade*
[Jay-Z]Guess who's bizack?You still smellin crack in my clothesDon't make me have to relapse on these hoesTake it back out to taxin them roadsWhen I was huggin it, niggaz couldn't do nuttin wit itStraight from the oven wit it - came from the dirtI emerged from it all without a stain on my shirtYou can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in meStill with me, pain plus workShit she made me milk this game for all it's worthThat's right, these niggaz can't fuck with meI'm callin guts everytime, drag my nuts everytimeHomey, we make a great combination don't we?Me and the Face Mob, everytime we face-offFace it y'all, y'all niggaz playin basic ballI'm on the block like I'm eight feet tallHomey, I'm in the drop with the AC onThat's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!
[Hook]Guess who's bizack?Back on the block with the old Face MobMack Mittens and Hov'Don't make me relapseBack to the block with the fo'Cuz this street shit is all I know
[Scarface]From the womb to the tomb - a hot pot of joy and a spoonTryna make me forty thousand and moveMotels, star-studded, rock stars and goonsPlain clothes wanna run in my room (whooooo...)But nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face MobStarted with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawgGive niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game goFuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chaseI wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88Don't got no wholesale, cuz that ain't how I wanna run itHere take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundredGotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend doThe fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets foolMoney is an issue - and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzleYa block warm, then I come by with the fizzleAnd make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the timeWe go to war and you ain't makin a dime (ha ha!)Cuz I got, shit to lose - a nigga out here payin his duesMy baby walkin gotta get him some shoesIt's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the bluesIt's a new game doin, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!
[Beanie Sigel]Guess who's bizack?The boy B. Mizack - a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-BrickTurn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered thisYou can smell it once the plastic ripsA hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clickedYou can make ya chips swell up, ya don't hafta pitchPlay them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switchYoung'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitzAnd keep ya whole hood on flip - like on box-springPissy Mack and shit, low old box of thingsStrictly glassy shit - I hug the block like a quart of waterShit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarterTill like deuce in the mornin, with the old headsSlangin loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)Still fuckin with them crack addictsStill bustin with that black-matic
[Hook]
*whistling till fade*
