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- Dipset Symphony (Feat. Juelz Santana, Jim Jon Es, Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal. & Un Kasa)
- The Diplomats
- Dipset: More Than Music Vol. 1
(feat. Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, JR Writer, 40 Cal & Unkasa)
Intro
I dont care what yall say, what yall do, but yall better rep harlem until the goddamn music is through. Mr C. lets do it
(Juelz Santana)
All eyes on the honorable (who)
Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbeque
(?) All my niggaz ride like a carnival
Heat drawn all you niggaz lie like carpet do
Get up and get ready, what up the kids ready
Now that Im back the game is fucked the bitch let me
You front, u stunt, You get heat clown
Yeah punks jump up to get beat down
(Jim Jones)
Now eight years ago, I played the bench wit dimes
Everybody on my corner is gettin bent off dimes
Sittin back, sippin yak tryna get us some sneakers
Sittin back in the Lac puffin nickels of reefer
(?) on the strip in the midst of the drug trade
(?) Im watchin for (?) in midst of the drug raid
But niggaz gotta eat its like my stomach is touchin back
New York rider for u suckerz that fuckin asked
(Hell Rell)
Now can I kick it yes I can
They wanna know if Im G'd up, Yes i am
Look Ive overpaid my dues
I almost made the news
Block kind of hot but the cocaine gon move
If I was a brick u wouldnt know what to do wit me
You'd probably pick me up get a stem and start using me
Nobody built me, I made myself
And you dont know how to shoot guns you grazed yourself
(J.R. Writer)
I was a fiend
Before I became a teen
I was dreams tossed for the latest beams (urrh)
Made me cream cuz Aye
They kept the powder in the tray way before it was Maybelene
Im in to major stacks, Major stats, Hate on that
Cam holla'd cuz imma bring his label plaques
That aint made of plaque WHOA
Your jewlry aint gold, You copped your jewlry from Hov They all fade to black
(Un Kasa)
I keep a nine in my dresser
Lyrical proffessor
Keep u under pressure
Aint a nigga better
Mind like a computer Six rugers
Get your fam go to war with six shooters
I fuck bitches in coupes they straight Hooters
Get head and thank Buda
(?) and sip Lua
I go hard you runnin with State Troopers
My niggaz straight shotters, Cock back and straight shootCha
(Mr C.)
Not in my book never that nigga, I told yall niggas to go till the fuckin Beat stopped. When (?) I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, J.R. Writer, Un Kasa,
Intro
I dont care what yall say, what yall do, but yall better rep harlem until the goddamn music is through. Mr C. lets do it
(Juelz Santana)
All eyes on the honorable (who)
Dipset, back to the grill again live at the barbeque
(?) All my niggaz ride like a carnival
Heat drawn all you niggaz lie like carpet do
Get up and get ready, what up the kids ready
Now that Im back the game is fucked the bitch let me
You front, u stunt, You get heat clown
Yeah punks jump up to get beat down
(Jim Jones)
Now eight years ago, I played the bench wit dimes
Everybody on my corner is gettin bent off dimes
Sittin back, sippin yak tryna get us some sneakers
Sittin back in the Lac puffin nickels of reefer
(?) on the strip in the midst of the drug trade
(?) Im watchin for (?) in midst of the drug raid
But niggaz gotta eat its like my stomach is touchin back
New York rider for u suckerz that fuckin asked
(Hell Rell)
Now can I kick it yes I can
They wanna know if Im G'd up, Yes i am
Look Ive overpaid my dues
I almost made the news
Block kind of hot but the cocaine gon move
If I was a brick u wouldnt know what to do wit me
You'd probably pick me up get a stem and start using me
Nobody built me, I made myself
And you dont know how to shoot guns you grazed yourself
(J.R. Writer)
I was a fiend
Before I became a teen
I was dreams tossed for the latest beams (urrh)
Made me cream cuz Aye
They kept the powder in the tray way before it was Maybelene
Im in to major stacks, Major stats, Hate on that
Cam holla'd cuz imma bring his label plaques
That aint made of plaque WHOA
Your jewlry aint gold, You copped your jewlry from Hov They all fade to black
(Un Kasa)
I keep a nine in my dresser
Lyrical proffessor
Keep u under pressure
Aint a nigga better
Mind like a computer Six rugers
Get your fam go to war with six shooters
I fuck bitches in coupes they straight Hooters
Get head and thank Buda
(?) and sip Lua
I go hard you runnin with State Troopers
My niggaz straight shotters, Cock back and straight shootCha
(Mr C.)
Not in my book never that nigga, I told yall niggas to go till the fuckin Beat stopped. When (?) I had Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Hell Rell, J.R. Writer, Un Kasa,
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