Three lyrics

[Intro: Prodigy]
For my G-pack n*ggas
(Right... right...)
Shooting at cops – n*gga, what?
(For my G-pack n*ggas...)
f*ck the police
N.Y.P.D. – New York Pricks and di*ks
They can't stop our floss, straight up (For you crackheaded b*tches)
For my A.M. n*ggas (For you crackheaded b*tches)
My Ante Meridiem n*ggas – what up, dunn?
Liquor store closing (No doubt, no doubt...)
Hit the bootlegger, let's hit the bootlegger
Straight up, yo

[Verse 1: Prodigy]
Yo dunn, we got guns and the grass, it's 3 at night
I'm about to take the last swallow of the Eases Jesus
Who got 50 on the next tree? We gotta stop at the store
We need D batteries for the theme music
Snatch the biscuits from out the lawn
f*ck a cab, let's take cracked-out Yolanda's Saab
We gave that b*tch two wibbles
Then skated off with her vehicle for that pillow
All outside, the borough – dunn, what happened to Queens?
Like Sutphin and 1-2-1, Farmers and 116th
They got us on the BQE, just to get a taste of that greenery
We took our smoke out to Coney Island, posted up by The Himalaya
Pina Colada Champales mixed with Dainy – that's St. Ide's in dunn lingo
Spillin' it on the floor for our dead people
While I spark the sequel
sh*t... my n*ggas got lungs
When we smoke, that sh*t only go around once
Dogs, we just killin' time
Somebody just got they sh*t twist' on the block, f*ckin' up the grind
So, 'til it pipe down
We just going at the sl*ts – b*tch, we wanna f*ck right now
[Verse 2: Cormega]
Son, I'm on a bench, high, eatin' chicken wings and french fries
A crackhead f*ck spent his last bucks on 6 dimes
I'm one gram from big-time, a spliff away from overdosin'
My heart is broken, my man started smokin' again
P, I heard The Tunnel open again
I spoke to Flex, he said he gonna let both of us in
It's time I load up the autos and semis
I wish my n*gga Spank was in the physical form of life
I got my Uptown Nikes, thugged out and icy
Mad deep, jumpin' out the cocaine white Jeep
Through with strugglin', so I resume hustlin'
Rap game or crack game, my crew is still bubblin'
Yo, 3 in the morning and the D's on the corner still
Seems we were born to kill; yo, P meet me on The Hill
So we could jet through Queens in SUV's
And show these motherf*ckers how we rep this thing – ya know?