Pharrell Williams — Music for the Gangstas

[Interlude: Pharrell] The pinks is real! yellows is real! The whites is clean, y'know what I'm sayin'? The blues is monster I mean, it's... the Laffy Taffy chain, hahaha Y'know what I'm sayin'? When I rock it, start laughin' Hahaha [Intro: Pharrell, DJ Drama, & DJ drops] In My Mind's coming soon It's so real But in the meantime, we have some other shit to handle So real (The Aphilliates, nigga, pay attention!) This the music for the— Skateboard P been paying a lot of dues (Dr— Dr— Dr—) So real And I don't know if y'all niggas been paying attention It's so real (Dr— Dr— Dr—) Well, if not, this what I'ma do for 'em This that music for the— (Dramatic!) Yeah DJ Drama, AMG This that music for the— (Gangsta!) Star Trak! Yeah Ill! (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!) [Verse 1 (false starts): Pharrell & DJ drops] This that music for the most realest, blow dealers Who by the way are Mo' spillers Surrounded by go-rillas, yeah It's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die" From Virginia, AKA "Hustler's Paradise" (Dramatic, nigga!) Yeah, it's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die" Yeah, it's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die" (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!) [Verse 1: Pharrell & DJ drops] —the most realest, blow dealers Who, by the way, are Mo' spillers Surrounded by go-rillas, yeah (Gangsta!) It's Skateboard, over "Trap or Die" From Virginia, AKA "Hustler's Paradise" But don't get it twisted, they be kidnapping guys Caught you slippin' your fault, the unmastered eye The only math-ma-tic is drug traff-a-ic Get it cook it cut it nigga then wrap it quick Get yourself a white one, get your man a matching 6 The whiteys call him "hip-hop," but they can't rap a lick Niggas tryna case 'em, the Feds is tryna chase 'em But they got it all designed like the mind of a Mason Fresh Ice Creams, I know you ain't plan to fall Turn that white tee red like Santa Claus It's almost sacrilegious, the way they practice business (Gangsta!) We call it package-risen the way that drug wakes up the dead Just for sports cars, it's lipstick-red On chrome deep-dishes; the face of the rim is red like Swedish Fishes Put the car and the rims together and get the sweetest kisses Clear your head for a second, leave the weed restricted I know you think I'm rapping fly, but I know niggas that rap and fly While I rap in fly jets, banging that "Trap or Die" I'm a great rapper, right? [Interlude: Young Dro & DJ Drama] Yeah, yeah (Young Dro), yeah, yeah Shout to Grand Hustle! For real, fuck with me My nigga, Young Dro! Young Dro, check this Talk to 'em! [Verse 2: Young Dro, DJ Drama, & DJ drops] Young Dro, ayy, I could turn time a day back (Gangsta) June the First (What?), I could whip up and bring May back (Oh!) Play that, I am a Yugoslavian killer German bricks: I am a Yugoslavian dealer (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!) Painkiller, blue-green Chevy, Navy Seal, marine-ready Dope same color spaghetti—you know, off-white, noodle yay' Flying Spur, super great Forty-five caliber to your chest, super-pray (Hard) Fruit whips, deuce-trey, 'bout to blow my roof away (Get 'em) Japanese torpedo (Choing-yoing), 'bout to blow your coupe away (Ah) I hustle where I used to stay [Break: Young Dro] Nah, I ain't gon' tell em all that (Nah, nah, slow down, shawty, slow down, son) I'ma stop right here, and I'ma come back here, like, here Ayy, look, ayy (Dr— Dr— Dramatic!) [Verse 2 (cont'd): Young Dro, T.I. & DJ drops] Ayy, ice-white grape, white-grape Jays (Okay) Light-grey yay', tote twice AK's (Blaow, blaow) Dice for eight days (Yes), ocean-black waves (Yes) Ocean-green Jaguar (Yes), total-black 'yays (Yes) Tote a black gauge (AP), Benz Four-Door Class 8 (Yuh) Mercedes 900, nigga, fuck a 500 Big rocks in my ear—look like a muscadine, don’t it? Oh, that rhyme don't it? (Yes!) Gotta believe us 'Frigerator rocks, I was born in the freezer (Brrr-r-r) Ayy, I was born in the freezer (Gangsta!) (Hold up, man, what's up, y'all?) [Verse 3: T.I. & DJ drops] Nigga, my pistol fully loaded, and my cheese in stacks You can keep the baking soda—ain't no need for that (Gangsta!) Cook crack, money fast, off-white money long We ball in Bowen Homes 'til all the money gone (Ayy!) Forty-cal' leave you numb like you bumped your funny bone What the fuck you laughing for? Ain't a damn thing funny, homes (Gangsta Gri-Zillz!) Live the dangerous life, I could show you the skull and bones Smooth as Frank Sinatra, but gangster like Al Capone It's well-known where we from and all the shit that we done Whether we proud of it or not, speaking loud of it or not (Dr— Dr— Dramatic!) I take a scoop out the block and then drop it into the pot Distribute it to the block—it's easy, believe it or not Niggas come all shapes and sizes, but pistols even 'em out It's plain to see he was shot, but nobody speaking to cops He seized, the gun dropped, they squeeze and none stopped I miss them, double back, and kill them all in one wop, nigga [Outro: T.I. & DJ Drama] Simple as that, man Now that's what quality street music's supposed to sound like! Ain't nothing to it in the hood You never there; we there often DJ Drama! Dro, P, let's get it! Oh! Ayy!