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Artist: Fabolous f/ Freck Billionaire, Paul Cain, Red Cafe
Album:  There Is No Competition
Song:   Takin' Pictures
Typed by: OHHLA Webmaster DJ Flash

{*"Gangsta Grizzill..." echoes*}

[Red Cafe]
You know all we do is count money and touch bitches right?
Gangsta Grillz...

The money on the wood, the B on the hood
So what I talk I live, let it be understood
The smell is so good, Presidential on the street
You know a nigga never put a pencil on the beat
Freak, Irish Spring fresh, at the SpringFest
Perfect attendence, motherfucker we bling best
Huh? This a bossed up king set
It's R, Cain, 'Loso and my mane Freck
Can't be cloned I rise like baked flour
Can't be stoned I'm high as the Sears Tower
Live by the code, ride don't dare cower
24 straight hours I'm Jack Bauer
Punish the block, with the milk white powder
Enough water to give the borrough a light shower
Enough hammers to drip drip and cause thunder
I'm just here to get the +Bread+ I ain't talkin +Wonder+
But the feds takin pictures of me
They lean like it's on syrup need a picture of me
Yeah, I'm so Brooklyn, I scream April pay
I'm so Flatbush, I'm Labor Day
I'm the pie baker, I'm doin cakes today
I'm gettin rid of the weight, I'm Ricki Lake today
It's the Fi-di-di-di-damn on your cam
Murderrrah, to make them boys blam on ya

I was the one that'll flash 'em, I'd rather buck 'em
Most niggaz'll stash 'em, I'd rather tuck 'em
I either CL class 'em, or Rover truck 'em
And ten drive right past 'em, like motherfuck 'em
See the game's like Wall Street
I watch the ups and downs like the stock betters
I'm Velveeta with it, still gettin block cheddar
I'm with the rock shredders, Glock out of the box getters
Come through like Katrina, they call 'em the block wetters
{"GANGSTA!"} BRRAP, BRRAP, thanks to the rock setters
I'm shinin, reclinin on this Maybach's leather
I'm in the Rich Young mock sweater, block letters
Nike Airs, croc leather, who rocks better
Ask Greg Street 'bout the Las Veg' suite
The Presidential joint with the Ronald Reag' sheets
They either throw salt, or think it's nutmeg sweet
so I keep the heat where the stomach and the legs meet
It's 'Loso Croft, You can call me Tomb Raider
We break in homes, we the living room raiders
Snatch wifey, come back for the groom later
Throw her in the back of the van like she on "Room Raiders"
Ha ha~! The rookie niggaz pay homage (what the bitches do?)
The bitches throw the box at me like Vonage
The Four Horsemen - Arn, Ole, Flair and Tully
Nigga this fully, ski-mask ya skully

[Paul Cain]
I'm a Rich Young boss, gettin money is my occpation
My net worth numbers look like China's population
I'm a hustler by blood nigga not relations
Stutter Gang Cain put a stop to your operation
Stop debatin, I'm one of the hardest bar for bar (CAIN!)
Constantly splurgin, I can match the dealers car for car
Nigga the god a star, shinin like a Audemars
Some niggaz marked with scars y'all know who these artists are
But me I ride different, I ain't with the dry snitchin
I ain't like these guys bitchin, ship jumpin and side switchin
I keep some live fish and all of my grind pies flippin
I'm 'bout a dollar, I stress it in every rhyme written
Some niggaz try trippin, walkin driveby grippin
Keep the four-five clip in, never catch me high and slippin
(Not me nigga!) The kind of boss you might die if you try stickin
Same dude that tried to hit and everytime missed me
I'm untouchable, Teflon bitch
See me comin through, you better strap a vest on qiuck
The rumor is he gassed up, on some Exxon shit
Not at all, take a shot at Paul, the Tec's gon' spit

[Freck Billionaire]
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I'm West Philly Freck, yes I rock the best ice
I lay my trap down like I'm tryin to catch mice
And you would think I went to flight school
I'm freshman like the first year of high school
Foreign vehicles - yes, I can get 'em homes
Two of everything - yes, I get 'em cloned
You meet your maker if you play with my checks
Testarossa, Testaverde man I play in them Jets
Freck - I fuck dime bitches (what else) I'm a Dom pitcher
(What else?) My Andre Agassis is older than your prom picture
I take it back, got the Barkleys with the strap
The red nosed pit shit, barkin with the strap
Got work in the hood, loan sharkin with the crack
I stay away from known snitches narc'n in the trap
You faggots, niggaz gettin tats tryin to make they faces scary
I shoot your tear drop nigga, like Jason Terry
Six-four Chevy, got it laced in cherry
The red wheels too, don't bring no hatin near me
To keep it real, I'm just glad to be here
Y'all frown on the ground, we laugh in the lair
Niggaz throw shade at us cause they mad at the glare
You'll hear clappin like the Hova show at Madison Square
Yeah, that's how I eat now, see they got the paid homes
I make my change in the booth I'm like a pay phone
I'm a +Slim Thug+, the boss man fellas
Ya'll nigga like L.A., y'all Los Angeles/lost-n-jealous
Check it, the ver two, my phone cost eleven thou'
You betta warn a brother like Kevin Liles
You lookin at a nigga, who done sold 'caine
I put the purple in the air like +Soul Plane+
Rap niggaz thinkin like "Damn what kind of lane he in?"
Switched the black card from plastic to titanium
I spit the "A" class lines, they spit "B" shit
Spit that "B" shit, you never gon' be shit
See how I "C" shit, I'm bowin wth the "D" shit
Got plenty bitches down in Philly on that "E" shit
I say "F" niggaz cause I'm on some "G" shit