Head bussa . . .
Head bussa . . .
Head bussa . . .
Head bussa . . .
I dont know bout you, but Im a head bussa (head bussa)
Hey yo . . .
Yo, N-O-R, you can catch me in my favorite car (car)
Drop Lex, black truck, Gordo the "Lazy R"
Im like a pitcher, I throw my hits crazy far
And if you is what you smoke then - hey yall
Im never faired up (faired up) I got some lead what (lead what)
And keeps some chicks in my whips and they always just fuck my head up
Im like whatever God, aint a nigga better guard?
I rock a Neptunes beat like its a leather garm
Know about you, but Im a bed crusher
See I dont know about you, but Im a head bussa
You see its God Favorite, he built the project bricks
Chicks love us anyway, cause we just make hits
No Re-my, Im good with just water and fish
Thugged out Militainment see we focused - bitch
Stand strong in the pain, see me hold my pivot
Or you can catch me in LA, with a Mexican midget
Yo, yo . . .
See Im a Philly nigga, I cant fuck wit a duck chick
Automatic whips, cant fuck wit a slut chick
Jo-se (Jose) Im so relaxed it seems
The first nigga sellin cracks through a fax machine
Shit Star Tek (Star Tek) I hold my gun in the raids
And I can make planes crash through a two-way page
Niggas stack like, act like I aint made mad classics
Like Im a new artist, demerit these rat bastards
But thats aight cause Im a still make more
And I could sell bad work, still say that its raw
I make songs for the poor niggas
The most "Grimey" and raw niggas, the ki-ki-kickin your door niggas
Go arm wrestle next, see whose neck I break
I send my little man home (dude go home man) have to check out late
She a bed crusher, see Im a bad person
Duh . . .
Aint a damn - thing the same
Look, Im a see if ya sayin my name (N-O-R)
Millionaires, that change the game
That got 9/11 clouds (clouds) and bullets that grain
Dont calm down (down) this is soldier game (fa sho nigga)
Kill for money, the raw and the caine
Let me, see you flag, the color of car nigga
Fix your fingers, show me what you are
See Im a head bussa (bussa) it aint hard to tell
That Im a keep makin hits, it aint hard to sell
And them Def Jam niggas put that paper behind us
We left that other label, and the hatin behind us
Niggas want beef, it aint hard to find us
We in the Lac Truck, them niggas in Path-Finders and-uh
The crime scene like N.O.R.E.! , N.O.R.E.!
People wanna scream they like N.O.R.E.! , N.O.R.E.!
Man, Im outta town my niggas travel, too
We in LA getting sucked off in Malibu
A new-car, ask the Jake, they call me "know shit"
Cause everytime they question me, I dont know shit
And hold this, yea nigga just know this
I always drink Henny, hardly know the Cris
Straight monster-wrist, I keep a ill beat
And niggas hardly like you, your shit still weak
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