I gets banned if I do gets banned if I don't   So sometimes I will and sometimes I won't   Puff mad stick crack a forty down the back   Sit fat and relax and plan my attack   Not the one to test I posess mad finesse   My buddha was blessed one bird in the nest   Chills with my peeps steady bouncing in jeeps   On the New York streets hittin urban concrete   I'm the man untestable, with the extraterrestrial flow   Fo'-fifty-fix celo, pop the top off the forty ounce bottle   I'm not the one to follow, I'm not the role model   Hollow tips in my clips money grip and my Glock   Only spits when I react to the bullshit   So give me room to breathe and get up off DEEZ   And save the confessions for JEESuz   Plus I don't need to hear no sorrow   Eff it, the sun will still come out tomorrow   Long as I'm breathing, needing, even like Steven   Achieving, gettin some cheese and   Representin lovely, Boogie Down Bronx major   With the project flavor, I made ya, daze ya   My behavior is mad ill if you front   You know what I want      (Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my rides   (So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines   (So whutcha want Nine?) A ill posse   And my name up in lights, N-I-N-E      I'ma let you know how I feel on the real   I pack steel it's like a jungle makes me wonder where my eel is   Hits the bricks skips the dog shit complete in my cipher   Temper like Rowdy Rowdy Piper, hyper like a viper   I'ma strike if I got it goin for the jugular   Stretch you like a copper   Stoppah, stoppah, but you can't stop me   Just clock me, just watch me blow up the spot G   Came a long way from, back in the day   We did it for no pay, just rhymin hit the hay and   Sleep, wake up, write another rhyme   Hit the park after dark drop the beat one time   That's when shit was real, no phonies no baloney   Just the homemade mics and wheels of steel   Backup from the roof, amp plugged in the street light   Everything right, jam over a street fight   Back to the lab I grab my pen and pad   Raw lyrics make a fleuredoscad   Had no dinero, enough get fo' chicken wings and rice   A forty ounce a nickel bag to get nice   And now I might make a million, and still son   It makes the heart pump, you know what I want      (Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my rides   (So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines   (So whutcha want Nine?) A ill posse   And my name up in lights, N-I-N-E      Be like Elmer J. Fudd with the mansion and the yacht   Brand new Glock non-stop hip-hop   Remote control boombox lampin on my dresser   The God ain't no lesser as the pressure comes to test ya   Hundred pound weight around the neck, daily   Nuff treasons nuff reasons like Philip Bailey   Can't get enough of that funky stuff   Rhymin astronomical, original, shit is phenomenal   Heat up the ghetto put the pedal to the metal   Speed like Racer treat you like a wack rhyme and erase ya   Right off the pape I roll a big fat spliff   Four-fifth on the hip, Heineken in the grip shit I'm ready   Get the keys for the jeep, let's bounce   Cruise avenues, get some brews and sing the blues with the   Funkmaster Flex cassette in the deck   I'm in effect I move my neck while Son gets wreck   Oh what a feeling, I'm on the wheels of steel and   I snatch up some skins for some sexual healing   Erything's kosher copasctetic, groovy hip-hop moves me   Soothes me, I'm letting off like an uzi   But first steps a doozy and bruise me   Now I'm choosy before I start to freak it like a floozy   I wanna get big get paid true stunt   You know what I want      (Whutcha want Nine?) Fat beats for my rides   (So whutcha want Nine?) Mad clips for my nines   (So whutcha want Nine?) A ill posse   And my name up in lights, N-I-N-E