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Artist: DJ Kay Slay f/ Bun B, D-Block, G-Unit, Papoose & Ray J
Album:  You Heard of Us (Remix) 12"
Song:   You Heard of Us (Remix)
Typed by:,

[Intro: Sheek Louch]
Yeah! Streetsweepers!!! Aiyyo Kay Slay I've been wantin to say this right!

[Chorus: Ray J]
Yeah I know you heard of us, the murderous, most shady
D-Block, Ray J you better watch your lady
We pop bottles in the club on the daily
And I buss a nigga head if he ever try to play me

[Verse One: Sheek Louch]
OWWWWWW!!! Lower the semi the engine is Henny
Playin Big Pun on my way from visitin Remy (Hold ya head ma!)
Yeah I need juice, sour diesel and dark shades
Liquor in my cup, doin 90 on the Palisades 
Hammer on my waist, act stupid then it's right in your face (WHATTUP!)
Sheek crazier than Max B losin his case (IT'S WAVY BABY!!!)
One DJ, two turntables, no replay
Women love your boy (HELLO!!!) Sheek Cool J

[Verse Two: Bully]
Rookie on the block a veteran with a glock
I ain't Big or Pac Bully got his own lane
Yeah I'm with The LOX but Bully got his own brain
Two dancers with me like the homey Daddy Kane
I like D.O.A. but holla at me T-Pain
Yeah I'm big but my shooters the size of Lil' Wayne (Mini!)
Keep the fame, I take another zero on it
It ain't unless the Ghost, Pinero's on it

[Verse Three: Styles P]
Dolla bills and good chron', hood don
Keys when the LOX there, fuck nigga pop (Pop off!)
Knockin Biggie in the new whip, roofless
Ain't Cool J, but the play god witta pool stick
+In Too Deep+, way too street
Talkin peace, save that shit for the Hindu's beef
(C'mon, B!) My gun long, from the bed to where the window reach
(Leave that alone...) Talk to shit to D-Block
nigga and end yo' speech, bitch!

[Verse Four: Jadakiss]
EH-HEEEEEH!!! Yeah, yo...
They all hatin, even the ones gettin money
They all Satan and go both ways, they all datin (haha)
Shorty wit the doobie in the car waitin (Hold on...)
You know the god, I'm M6 and the R8'n
'F' the world, in other words, screw the nation
My word play is excruciatin (pain)
These niggas is just hallucinatin, and keep tweekin
But I'm the trustee, so it's job
The Street Sweeper, what!

[Verse Five: Tony Yayo]
I kill a snake in the grass I'm the mongoose
One phone call boy let the goons loose (BOOM!)
Then Kay got a hundred round verse
I need a hundred on the show I need 50 on a verse
Yeah! I got the riches
but a nigga need God in his life for them spiritual wishes
FUCK BITCHES!!! Look at what they did to McNair 
These rappers lookin like a bunch of ants in a Leer
Everybody wanna be on
every hooper in the hood wanna be the boy that dunked on LeBron
Like Jordan, Xavier, you can have that girl I ain't savin her
I'm like Rakin nigga, I Move The Crowd
R.I.P. To Michael Jackson moonwalkin in clouds
Yeah the Full ten loud so forget that three eighty
D-Block and G-Unit we the most shady!!!

[Verse Six: Bun B]
II Trill is in the building! Hide ya broad
And tuck ya chain, you lyin to lame, we goin hard!
(Goin hard!) We rollin deep and we known to put the pressure down
(Down!) You not built for this business, don't make me test you clown
(Clown!) Pound for pound, I'm the best thang spittin
Stay throwed, stay hittin in the fresh outfit and
It's hard to do it like me (me)
when my Jordans' don't come out 'til Christmas
and my Nike's is iD (D!)
Me a hater? Why be one? Please!
I tell you what, playa, slap a hater when you see one
(One!) The streets we run, I don't mean joggin
Talkin 'bout break bread or get it in the noggin
We in the house like a recluse
And while you drinkin Gatorade, we sippin Trill O.G. Juice
Get it poppin from the get-go, slow it down
Like you out of petro 'fore them shooters let go

[Verse Seven: Papoose]
How you 'gon see me on a E-Dubb track?
Your album was a brick call it re-up rap
You don't got no street knowledge you don't build
Leg shooter claimin you so real
How you gonna shoot a nigga in his calf muscle you don't kill
Your bullets go to the Cavs like Shaquille O'Neal
Gotta find ways that we all could eat
So we move that white girl like Dawson's Creek
Rappers is unstable so they thoughts is weak
I'm stable like the places where the horses sleep
Yeah they got grams but they grams just ain't right
My grams is like a hammerhead shark, great white
When I'm bangin at you homey I ain't the leg type
I'll head tap 'em like a bitch do when the braids tight
Think you hot cause they log on to your fake site?!
I wanna see if they can log on to your grave site

[Verse Eight: Lloyd Banks]
Uh, Prada good in 80s', new Mercedes, few ladies
New York City's baby, got the projects goin crazy
Pay me everything up front, we got the pumper money happy
Look at me, my earrings POP like Pappy
Get at me! I'm chromey, make it shake all by my lonely
I done bust so many bottles, now the wattress want boney
Trick on me, her miss cologne me, her favorite homey
I'm stoney, she'll David Blow-me as I get cozy
Play the corner like posey, frozey, with a u-zi
Hennessy and Rosie, can't a single woman hold me
Guns don't stop bullets, so err'body packin
One boy, you ain't strapped, you done, won't be long 'fore the casket come
There's ya mourning god, hood hero, fallen star
Local broad, fallin car, Chronic out the jar
To my table of the bar, model stay but I'm star
Livin god, bar for bar, haters stop me, naw!

[Chorus: Ray J]
Yeah I know you heard of us, the murderous, most shady
D-Block, Ray J you better watch your lady
We pop bottles in the club on the daily
And I buss a nigga head if he ever try to play me