Yea, uh      Yea   This is dedicated to the G's, the P's, the C's, niggas thats in the B's   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   But I'm hot, so I'ma make these muh'fuckas play it though   I wan-na shine   Nigga don't make me re-sort to crime   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   That's where they made me go, right back to the streets      My old head went to bed, croaked over the liquor   His attitude leaked out, all over a nigga; I love him   He made me harder, made me smarter, I'm young and I'm thuggin'   Enemy to ya baby father, the one that they muggin'   Therefore they'd rather see a nigga plug him, cuz the hoes dug him   Dig him, I line 'em up and get 'em   Then I forget 'em, cuz I don't babysit 'em   If he's on a bootycall then he got the 380 wit' him   If he's headed to the mall, then it's in Mercedes driven   Or the pea green Stormer, the color of marijuana   I don't follow rules, I'd rather do what I wanna   Stand out like a Bent' on the avenue in the summer   I was low in the cabin, had the view of the lumber   Think about the has-beens, mad I'm doin' my number   When I leave out the spot, I drag a few in the Humber   Brrup, you're now rockin' wit the boy wonder         Yea   This is dedicated to the G's, the P's, the C's, niggas thats in the B's   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   But I'm hot, so I'ma make these muh'fuckas play it though   I wan-na shine   Nigga don't make me re-sort to crime   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   That's where they made me go, right back to the streets      1982 the year I came thru, I saw   Exactly what I been tryna show to you, or   You can putcha seatbelt on I'll take ya to   Where the hood's the arena and the block's the pay-per-view   I'ma New York nigga, but they love me everywhere   A soldier, yea...without the military gear   I'm the flow-er of the year and I rap like I ain't rich   We all know the kind of respect that Banks gets   I'm frost bit, 50 grand on the bracelet   It's a quarter a piece, I'm so close I can taste it   Run up on me, ya hat and ya head is blown   Laid out on ya neck, as flat as a herringbone   All I need is a pitch, a bat and I'm headin' home   Uh, I'll fly ya head out the park soon as ya start   You big as a pound puppy, wit a whole lot of bark   Ya either half crazy, or gotta whole lot of heart      Yea   This is dedicated to the G's, the P's, the C's, niggas thats in the B's   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   But I'm hot, so I'ma make these muh'fuckas play it though   I wan-na shine   Nigga don't make me re-sort to crime   I guess this ain't somethin' for the radio   That's where they made me go, right back to the street