Artist: Solomon Childs Album: The King Kong of New York Song: Renegades Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Solomon Childs] Invasion... like a TJ Hooker or some shit We back again, nigga, shit.. see us nigga Staten Island, you see us nigga B-Town... Killa Hill, Staple Town, Jungle Nilz Now Born.. check it... [Chorus: Solomon Childs] Renegade.... g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat Renegade.... g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat Renegade.... g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat, g-g-g-gat Nah... they don't want problems... [Solomon Childs] I stay sharp, lucky, whips and kicks I stay sharp, lucky, whips and chicks DrugDealer.com, NineMillimeter.com KidnapYourKids.com Solomon Childs, the black rose Potent, product, with bank rolls Boulevard street Godfather, done rows Illegal money like Pete Rose Tongue kissing project centerfolds Your little bitch love when the kid flows Who want it? Who wanna ride for the Super Bowl Grand imperial, after this year, I'mma have the hood ready to ride with me Seriously, you better wanna ride with me I'm beginning to think dudes think I'm a gimmick Run through 'em like Boston in the pennant Burn like gasoline through your fitted Rock mine low, dickies and red I cut a real rasta's dred You looking at your centerfolds, center piece Mwah, to the death of your chief Tales of the mark 'em home, cook coke game regime He got clientele back in the hood like L.T. and Mitch Green Deal 'em with cake like porno, robberies on police photos [Chorus] [Solomon Childs] Starting to get hated, that's the way I love it You gon' sleep with a dead hundred, rosery beeds and blunted You ain't confident with yourself, so how could you want it? Judgment day, torture, game day I peel out your calf with a machet' Hip hop style of Russian roulette Super heavy back, intense like a Mexican bullets at Whether the streets or jail, you gon' witness the metal clap 20th century dragon's lair, black hood, black blazer Black laser, using potatos for salads To bust the heads of you juicy tomatoes Don't sway the way I sway, cuz majority bids Sing in front of a crowd like Eric Benett Smell yourself, you fly as the ground, be But you dead, nigga, you already dead, nigga Rough like alligator, you can see a real killer within Look alive muthafucka or get buried alive, muthafucka Master beats, this is music for dudes who wanna up stound Tough guy shit, acting like the hammers ain't around Born in New York City, with that East Coast attitude, muthafucka