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Artist: Pete Rock f/ Masta Killa, Raekwon
Album:  NY's Finest
Song:   The PJ's
Typed by: DaSun Akbar,

[Intro: Raekwon]
Yo man get ya ass in here man
You know the fucking Police looking for you man?
Come on man - them niggas just left here man
Come on man you know we got mad fucking blow
Up in the Motherfucking lab son
This nigga's off the hook man
Yo Chef talk to these niggas man

We're bagging ounces in the back of the Maz'
Ostrich on, Woolrich's, three Quarter-ness
A.D.I.D.A.S. with Stan Smith's
The grant's on the Stove
And Aunt Lo about to come to the Lab-o
She giving me some credit for clothes
That's the slang work for bricks, dicks
Analyze you neva know who looking
It's deranged world - where snitches is enterprising
Black Man hold on, like magnums in the wind
'Cause when it get cold, parole give a homey like ten
What's the prognosis; drugs, guns, and ounces of Gold fish
Fly reefer outta town, bitches is stone six
And birds back with 18 and played C.R.E.A.M, gray beam
Its lean new A.D.I.D.A.S jackets, flipping up small dean
Visualizing portraits, fresh cuts, brand new Porsche's
Going with hand-to-hand, serving the Source
Yo, running from the Police
This day-to-day lifestyle where niggas get arraigned
And get chain, it's like Psycal -- blaow!!

[Chorus: Pete Rock]
Drug dealers, star and celebrities (Ghetto celebs)
Even dudes with a few felonies (A few felonies)
In the PJ's this what they telling me (Telling who?)
Sniffing real hard but you're not smelling me (Smell me)
The crowd yelling for 'Chef' 'Killa' and 'Pete Rock' (Pete Rock)
Got 'em moving like the millennium beat box (Beat Box)
Shit is all good 'til they hear the heat cock (Whooo!)
Fall back and let the beat rock

[Masta Killa]
Degrees of experience qualifies me to speak in certain areas
Where many can't reach, so I prepared a speech for y'all
To then listen while I spit the hot venomous shit
My whole clique sick, infested with the itchy trigger finger mob related
Noodle-leanie universal flag beanie
Son you wouldn't want to see me black down, Masta .4 pound
Clip full of hallow tip round
Turn the fucking sound up
My cup running over Hennessey; the Bill Bixby
Ninja Scroll, niggas that roll
My son did four in the hole
Tenant population, neva told, facing parole
Sipped the old gold style, beat it in trial
Mild-mannered .9 bandit, flow drunk
Look at skunk weed sticking
Razor sharp rip 'em, bites lift 'em
We at the Jam direct
The ghetto gospel, collaboration
One work could change the nation
No doubt!


Tuna salad and Puma rackets pushing through the projects, captain
Get your money, yo show me no slacking
We drive the meanest joints
Shoot through Medina with a Evisu jeans and nina's
Stop by juniors we're hitting cheeba
Briefly, crackers observe
You got the undercovers
Niggas just love us, yo we know that they suckers
You know what? - What? Mosey don't be nosey yo!
Watch these fake niggas with these Thank You cards
Them shits is bogey
Snitches in the hood up to no good
We would kill a lot of mothafuckas but the timing ain't good
So while my bankroll climbing
I'll be out on consignment, breezing
Ki's with 29 letters melted the cheeses
All of my paper now in real estate
White folks been doing this since '69
It's billions and killer weights
So prosperous moves with the jewels, with Wu Nikes on
It's cool don't eva act like niggas ain't new - one!


[Outro: Raekwon]
Yeah! we just sit back - in the luxury toasters
Sliding through the mothafucking projects
Stand away from you fake ass mothafuckers
Laying up in the barberShop, getting fucked up cuts
We don't respect y'all (Don't respect y'all)
Knaw'saying? This is Shala Louis Rich
Pete Rock, Masta Killa, The Vatican
One! I'm gone