Song: Long Time Coming
Artist: Juelz Santana
Album: Back Like Cooked Crack 2
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Cam'ron]
...in pajamas I snuck out to watch Santa
Now look at Killa, you gonna watch Santana

[hook - Jahiem]

[Juelz Santana]
Now I was born by the river in a little town
Little gate, little fence I climbed over
Little scrapes, little dents I got over
That was just the beginning it's not over
It's been a long time comin' Cam
It's been a long time ridin and a long time runnin man
Shit done changed since The Wop and The Runnin Man
Since Nino, G-Money, The Carter, and the Duh-Duh Man
It's no longer a New Jack City
It's cop fast and move that quickly or cops crash
Spent a long time comin up this road
And I ain't talkin rap man, I'm comin up this road
I'm talkin crack man and comin up with O's
I'm comin up with halves and comin up with ho's
Shit got hectic had to come up with my ho's
They would boof it and go, I receive it move it and roll
I was comin from the Q, Zeek was comin from the O
Jim chose to give his work to smash in dough
We was all on the paper run
Yeah waitin for a change to come
Now look the change has come
The 7-Pick Up, U-Conn the Range is come
The day has come, Dipset remains the ones
Most hated by you other mothafuckas
In this game, we remain, it's a shame cuz

[hook - Jahiem]
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Song: Champions (freestyle)
Artist: Juelz Santana & Jim Jones
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Juelz Santana]
This nigga gotta be stupid
Nashawn runnin his mouth, man why did he do this
He don't understand it's not just the music
It's war, violence included and I will abuse it
Shoot and pop and your movement
Don't be mad cuz we the champions and yall are the losers
Yall are the duckers, my squad is the shooters
Yall are the pumpers, my squad is the movers
Yall ain't fuckin with us
Keep layin them dry threats
I'll make it hard for you to digest the food that you process
Now you really fuckin with God's best
I will point, I will aim and fly planes in ya projects
You ain't nothin but a sidekick
Rollin, strollin and holdin on Nas' dick
I'm a star standin next to a star
You see me, you see Cam
You see a car next to a car
I see you, I see a man in the next nigga car
It's obvious Nas got no respect for his squad
You got sent on a Doja mission
You's a bitch with ho intentions
Need to get fucked
That's why I sent some homo's to come get you (who?)
Lo-Lo, Bo-Bo and Mr. Pump Pistol
You faggots is done dizzle forizzle
You fuckin with boys that grip the pump pistols
Talkin bout chains being snatched
Cormega snatched yours and gave it back...pause
Rewind, your peoples can't ignore me
No +Ether+ can destroy me
I am here for real fucka

[Jim Jones - talking]
FUCKAS...I heard you Santana
Yessir, this is none other Jim Jones nigga
Cappo Status...Dipset nigga
You fuckin little faggot
Nashawn you a little punk man I'm way out your league
And you know this man
I would've sent my YG's to come get you
And let Lil' Nene fuck you up
You little faggot man
I got a couple of things to say to you man
My man Livenson and Po and'em
Playin fuckin roulette with your fuckin punk ass
And fuckin house shit have you cryin man
Listen you know what else man?
How you gonna go home man?
You not allowed in the BX man, NOOOO
You not allowed in Ghost Town no more
You heard me? Please we gonna ride on that man
As for Nas man...I guess you ain't Muslim no more man
So you know what that means...
I'm gonna smack that fuckin kufi off your fuckin head man
Cuz I had a little issue with my ocky's man
They was tellin me be cool with the little fuckin kufi shit
But NOPE...here it goes kufi straight off your fuckin punk ass head
I called you a hermaphadite before but you really a transvestite
You little homo man
And I'ma stop wastin my breath on you man
You speakin to a CEO nigga, Cappo Status, underboss man
You not even a don, you not even a cappo man
You under John and them, I don't know they clergy system
But I know you a fuckin little Doja in they regime
You little faggot man
DIPLOMAT RECORDS man, that's wassup
You hear me? And I ain't famous man, all the famous people know me
And I'm real right, so please do the history on that
HOLLA
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Song: Sesame Street Shop
Artist: Juelz Santana & J.R. Writer
Album: Diplomats Vol. 5
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

Yo imagined if we set up shop on Sesame Street...

[Chorus]
Haze and 'yay we flip it like
Eighty ways,sunny or
Rainy days, that's just the
Way we play (we just some hustlers)

Haze and 'yay we flip it like
Eighty ways sunny or
Rainy days that's just the
Way we play (we just some hustlers)

[Juelz Santana]
Now you can catch me comin' down Sesame
Street with the recipe
Feet like a centipede
Easy to sell a 'ki
Get that hit that sweet like a jelly bean
Come back run back cop me a lot more
Tuck that cops will rush that trust that
And you a good customer I want you to come back
Seat belt drive safe call me if you arrive late
That's how I treat my customers
That's why these niggas fuck with us (ay)
It's all a hustle game hustle mane hustle lane
Speed and crash cops clean it up like nothin came
That's why I hustle fast enough for this duffle bag to fluff
Get a chick then double that through her
I double back to the streets with double that to pump
Then I'm done doublin' like what (what)
I'm too fast Michael Jackson too "Bad"
You fags too ass to fuck with us, yup

[Chorus]

[J.R. Writer]
This remind me of um Big Bird
Naw, this remind me of a big bird
When I used to pitch herb
Dope crack sold packs
O's snap, shit word
R had the strip served far out in Pittsburg
Disturb shits slurr Sizzurp crack juice
Black coupe hit curbs his hers
Slick furs shit blurred
Eyes squinted high been it
Twisted up flipped it up picked it up
I'll be back in five minutes
That was my limit two pies one half
Crew live guns blast you try, dumbass
Was a soft importer flip pies tossed a quarter
Push pack cook crack get by across the border (what else)
Import the order duck cops lost reporters
Stone packs pack stone phone tapped like faucet water
Confuse the jakes J had the jakes confused
Cake to lose moved the weight like I couldn't wait to move

[Chorus]
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Song: Only U (remix)
Artist: Cam'ron & Juelz Santana
Album: J.Armz The Punisher 5
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Cam'ron]
Santana...Dipset
Let's remix the remix
Harlem...Gotti holla at me

See mami know my job (is what)
To stay fly god, my God
The I-Zod matchin the I-Pod
And I fry hard, usually ten stoves
But I'm takin ten tolls over to Glencove (why)
The D-I-P in V-I-P, that's word (to who?)
B-I-G, free Sheek Ali (what else?)
See mami know a freak I be but

[Juelz Santana]
San...tana...Ay!
Is it the gangsta or the pipe about me
She like about me, she can't go a night without me
She's so open yes, she's so soakin wet
She can't hold her breath
I'm like, you gotta breathe
Take ya time come ride with this
I be ya personal, gynecologist
I be the person who, find a spot to hit
I be the person who, grind and pop and flip

[Cam'ron]
I be like yes yall'n, Killa Cam be ballin
Winter, Spring, to Fall and we all close the mall and
Crawlin, they go home hurlin'
Shorty I'm sure, shit shorty tell ya girlfriend

[Juelz Santana]
I'm straight for paper, ay
Paper chaser, ay
Gangsta gangsta, ay
Gangsta gangsta, ay
Baby my block's a crazy zoo, but it got me crazy glued
Stuck I got to make these moves, Dipset
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Song: Snitches
Artist: Cam'ron f/ J.R. Writer & Juelz Santana
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[J.R. Writer]
I ain't 'gon front I always thought he was a survivor
Shells around, held him down when was in the fire
The feds got him tapped from his sneakers to attire
Just like Kanye West, speakin +Through The Wire+
Like don't forget, make sure you speak into the wire
Thinkin now he was singin he would be up in the choir
When I find him I'ma put the heater to his visor
All he gonna see is the screechin' on the tire
That's what, errr up the block
Bang a right, make a left
Bang a light, made him stretch
Candle-light, brains was set
Not only that though, all his weight was wet
Hustle dummies, fucked the money was was way in debt

[Chorus]
You want things your way...(x4)

[Juelz Santana]
It was all good just a week ago, we was together smokin
Hella blunts smoke, all in the vehicle
I got the word back, he was in the vehicle
With the D's, I bet he thought he was low
Damn this nigga spent the night at my crib
Sat in my mom's kitchen, now he go off snitchin'
But this my man, I can just stop fuckin with him
Like I'm just not fuckin with him, or just pop one up in him
Plus it's rules here, if you play where the rats play
You gotta go, you must lay where the rats lay
Hate to see a nigga that I broke bread with
With his whole head split, cold dead stiff

[Cam'ron]
See we oppose when we slap-box
Then we throw the crack rocks
Jackpot, golden rose when we drove the Jag Drops
Du-rag top ock, we cut the cheese together
Leggos they Eggos, went through to Chuckie Cheese together
We watched Chuckie, Chuckie ducky
We was lucky, had a Huffy and a Buggy
Sold thugs in 23's the weather
Now he got the nerve, these niggas watch me serve the guack-up
Now he gettin jealous cuz I'm coppin' birds
And he wired like Money Gram, I got the doctrine
Went to the spot store so I watched who's watchin
And you thinkin that's Cam's sweet
Damn it's street, fuck Rocky ran asleep
I'm cuttin off his hands and feet
And his plans and teeth, yeah the mission get done
This bitch is for one, told me to christen my son
And the muscle type, he wouldn't tussle fight
Fucked up his jungle, couldn't hustle right
Shoulda came for a loan, you know that scrilla's life
But what's ill tonight, Killa gotta kill his wife
Yup address her homie, won't say he left her lonely
Seen some transactions, don't need a testimony
And I'm no punk, I pump lead bitch
When I dump you'll get bumped, get'em bunk bed caskets
And the brother just smiled, I just got'em a ditch
Another motherless child, cuz their father's a snitch (ain't that a bitch...)

[Chorus - repeat till the end]
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Song: Damn (freestyle)
Artist: Juelz Santana & J.R. Writer
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Juelz Santana]
I'm like none of your damn business
Front and the can-non spit
Buck and the can itch
Life up your trunk when the can-non spit
With the can-non kick, buckin' the can-non quick
Keep the cannon, buckin' the jam quick shit
It's nothin' to jam shit quick
Juelz Dip Dip, Santana Set Set
What he grip grip tech tech's
Get get wet wet yes yes
I'm 2-Pac'n in, I'm ooo-wop'n in
I'm shoobie-doop dude do-wop'n in
I'm tube sock new drop who's watchin' it
Tube top her boobs pop through cockin' it
New watch ooo watch blue bloxin' it
Now you tell me where I'm from, Harlem
If it's a problem we solve'em
Rob'em revolve'em, bang bang bang bang

[J.R. Writer]
I'm in a lead Max glock 9's lead caps
Shells chrome well known cell phone fed tapped
Bread stack play the strip eight to six, six to eight
Gettin' cake did that, crackheads head cracks
Bed mats couch floor out whores indoors
Outdoors have'em like "ouch" or "my mouth's sore"
We about war ocky now stop the shit
We pull out 4's, papi'll drop the bricks
We buy out stores yall see what's poppin' prick
Ocky I rock the wrist cop me an Aqua Swiss
That's that new taste white stud ooo wait
Ten G's for one and I don't trust it cuz it's two faced
I toured a few states, went from station to station
If the station was stationed, I was lacin' the station
Fuck waitin' impatient, nights late in the basement
Writin' lightin' right, this is J in the makin'
I'm your ratin' replacement, if you're hired you're fired
You get hired and fired, retire retire
Your attire is tired, I'm the buyer of buyers
Who connect your connects and supply your suppliers
It's the fire of fires, what'chu mean what'chu need
J.R. Writer stupid the heat of the team
I put liters to beams then feed it to fiends
Smoke heads dopeheads, watch'em weed and just lean

[Juelz Santana]
Shorty's movin again shorty's loose with the pen
Shorty do it to win...
Say I walk around like I gotta S on my chest
Tech on my left, gangstas with me ready to step
You ain't a gangsta wear the vest on your chest
You's a bitch those is full blown breast on your chest

My niggas spit the glock oh so slow oh
Rude boi' liquor shot, bo bo bo bo
Never seen a dinner pot hold so much pot
Cook it to a bigger rock, ay ay oh oh
Now I be with them gangstas I creep with them gangstas
Crack a dutch or philly and chee-chee with the gangstas
I stay with a lady she stay with a lady
They makin me crazy (chea chea chea chea)
And I spray'em with babies, in they face till they hate me
I'm makin them crazy
And they like when I do it, they like when I move it
They like when I hurt it, they like when I work it
I stay icy on purpose like icy preservers
More than likely I'm the nicest you heard of
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Song: Tipsy (freestyle)
Artist: Juelz Santana
Album: Back Like Cooked Crack
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Juelz Santana]
Now everybody that's a thug get with me
One, here comes the two to the three to the four
Here comes to tool and the piece through your door
Everybody movin, please hit the floor
I don't want no excuse for the piece to go off
I came to remove what you keep in your raw
So tell me where it's at and I'll be leaving you all
Don't nobody in here act tipsy
Cuz I'll bust open ya head that quickly
Wait, I know you keep ya drugs and the money in a safe
If I don't get that combination before I hit eight
I'ma put a combination on ya face
Now here comes the five to the six to the seven
Here comes the the 9 and the grape to ya melon
I thought you was a gangsta, nigga why is you yellin?
Come to find out that was a lie you was tellin
Now everybody in this bitch strip naked
Cuz every dolla in this bitch we takin
And every hollow on this clip gets wasted
They'll never hear you holla in this big thick basement
Trick please, I don't wanna have to make you look like swiss cheese
Please tell me where your man is keepin his ki's
Has a man ever put his gat in ya butt?
She said no, I said "now is that what you want"
Now everybody that's a thug get with me
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Song: Ready 2 Fight
Artist: J.R. Writer & Hell Rell
Album: DJ Green Latern Presents-Team Invasion: Hood Rules Apply 2
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Hook - Hell Rell]
Now I've been drinkin' that Sizzurp
And I'm drunk as fuck
And I'm ready to fight
Niggas lookin' at me like I don't get it poppin'
I'ma kill somebody tonight
And I don't never ever get into beef without
Squeezin' off my nine
And all my niggas and all my bitches
If you fuck with the Dips get ready to ride

[Hell Rell]
Now all my G's in NY carry big 4-5's
Chicago L.A. prefer them AK's
And all Philly niggas is mac-milli niggas
Every thug in St. Louie bought an Uzi
C'mon now when Rell says dump you get up and dump
Let off the pump and let them little pellets eat'em for lunch
I got everybody watchin' me I'm feelin' the scrutiny
I'm about to show these niggas why Killa recruited me
I'm young I'm hungry I'm fresh outta Clinton
Got bitches bringin' me money yes I'm still pimpin'
From that last lil' shoot out you still limpin'
I'ma finish you off tonight hustle get off the white
It won't stop until the hands on the Rolly spin
And my mink is made out of coyote skin
The way I'm stuntin' so hard should be a holy sin
And everytime I cop five copy throw me ten
My lil niggas'll kill you just to floss
Look at these diamonds they real blue in the cross
Who's poppin' in the hood wheel through in the Porsche
Nigga you's a worker I'm real cool with your boss
Get you fired re-hired for a lesser salary
I'm on the move these cops they forever after me
You never tasted bomb reefa' look at your boy
I'm in a James Bond beamer with a St. Tom (Thomas) diva

[Chorus]

[J.R. Writer]
I been this sick been in sick movin like Emmit Smith
And my fifth endin shit that'll be the end of it
Ends I get endiless, tennis kicks plenty chips
Uzi keep movies that's what I call extended clips
Shit J sick and cake get it eight flipper
The Don Juan and Louis Vuitton suede slippers
I can't straight slither through these streets
Without gettin' spotted more times than weight lifters
Dunny I'm what's hot, honey in a drop
Comfied up my socks dunny give me props
Alligators, dummy I don't cop
I walk through the damn clothin' company for a box
Slap pack those things back slap yo' dame
I'm back pass that stack, that's crack cocaine
You back track track back, half ass romaine
Clap back max track cap at yo' dame, blap!

[Chorus]
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Song: Maintain
Artist: Juelz Santana
Album: Big Mike Presents-The Big Boy Game Vol.3
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[Juelz Santana]
Fuck you think I'm pumpin' for
Fuck you think I'm hustlin' for
You baby ooo baby
Nothin' more I love this whore
That's my baby my lady my change
Reason I got this AK screamin fuck you, pay me
You the reason I rap swifter than that nigga
Actually you the reason I'm that nigga
Baby don't leave me, see my baby won't leave me
Cuz my baby know I need her
More than she needs me
You the reason I can say shit like
Gimme this I want that girl you changed my life
You the reason for this long nose pistol
This raw coke sniff too front door with all them pit bulls
You the reason I would car chase fiends
You the reason I have Scarface dreams
You the reason I know what Pombay means
You the bombay b
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Song: Yayo (freestyle)
Artist: J.R. Writer
Album: Hell Rell-Streets Wanna Know
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[J.R. Writer]
I make a leader flip holla if you sneezers sniff
I'm on some heathen shit you ain't never seen a brick
As you can see I'm rich so every time I meet a bitch
I'm all in her mouth like I'm tryna read her lips
I got this down packed you can never bounce back
System in the hood that'll make the ground crack
I'm forever don peep my effin charms
Serena at the jewelery store gettin my tennis on
Puttin my tenants on my fella's fella
Whateva L's or vanilla's speed dust or methadon
But I'm focused on some cash
While you're focused on some ass
You ain't focused you're an ass
And you hopin that I crash
Writer keep the toaster in the stash
Snap and clap at you like I'm open for the pass
So don't clown with the Uno
I got pounds of that you know
Re-up then throw my weight around like a sumo
Uno
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Song: Ruger & Writer
Artist: J.R. Writer
Album: Hell Rell-Streets Wanna Know
Typed by: marcyville@gmail.com

[J.R. Writer]
I'm out to solve it with skills
I give the slaughters the chills
And make them nausious and ill
Skips from a Porsche to DeVille
Before I caught me a deal
I was caught up in crills
Like fuck the billboards I'ma hit the board of a bills
So now I'm layin in the shades
Playin with them K's
Cat front I'll lay some pape on his waves
Keep playin like you brave
And nah I don't know you
But I'll have some dirt on you and I'll lay you in the grave
I'm pass hot ask not
I'll leave ya cap popped
Runnin shit 100 clips go up in ya black sox
Let a cat plot hat popped blasted
Put money in the casket call that the stash box
Gotta laugh ock you could never fuck with me
180 even though the dash say a buck sixty
Pardon me I'm grown
R-a on some chrome
Flyin past sittin in the Charger like a phone
Homes I'm just a supplier whippin and fire
Black body black rims chrome lift on the tire
You're not as sick as this flow
You guys are sick of this pro
J.R. Writer a.k.a the flyest nigga you know
Ho
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