[Tiffany]
Bobby, I'm tired of yo' %#@!, ^!$$%!
I'm tired of you comin' in at 3 o'clock in the mornin'

^!$$%, you got a family here
You act like you don't $#&@in' know that %#@!
^!$$%, what the $#&@?


[RZA: overlapped by chorus]
Yo, yo, yo, yo..

Growin' up in crazy Cali
Yo, yo, yo..


[Chorus 1: Force MD's]
Digital, these ^!$$%s should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby

Bedstuy, this is my life..

[RZA]

Yo, yo, yo..
A Brooklyn baby, I was bron up in King's County
Inside the womb seven months before the Queen found me

Up in wroughty Brownsville with fiends around me
Now roam gat in Staten with Cream Team around me
They called me Bobby, cousin, really got the black Harley

Taught his son how to spike cats like Lee Harvey
Oswald, all's well that ends well
My big brother Divine, he pushed the Benz well

I got the cherry Range, broke and rockin' heavy chains
I'm from the tribe of men who would bury Kings
On the back of the A-train, my daydream

Should I make a phat hit or should I take CREAM?
From the Clan that taught you Cash Rules
I make soul grind tracks, you grab $$# too

Give respect to the Prince when he pass through
Might have a chocolate deluxe in a glass shoe
Cousin Billy, known to strap the black uzi

Two-two in front of the Jakes like Jack Ruby
Live on TV where you see B-O-B-B-Y
D-I-G-I-T-A-L, A-L, things ain't too well


[Chorus 1]


[Chorus 2: Force MD's]
Digital, these ^!$$%s should be crazy
Growin' up as a Brooklyn baby

This is how I live my life..

[Masta Killa]

Yeah..
Peace Lafyetee, Stuyvessant, Malcolm X
Shot dice on green, we live from Calasky y'all

It's Fred Glassy, zig-zag-zig through traffic
Get the herb, get the God, peace Ra'
What's the word on things?

Through the phone I heard the bangin' sounds
in the background, layin' down
I'm spittin' what the people missin'

We extreme with the murder type theme
Don't sleep, get ya head split to the white meat
Big guns, down South we blaze

Shippin' bodies back up North, it's the Weston
Wild Texan, no trespassin'
Long mics hit the dead arm

Planet Earth, home of Islam
Brooklyn, I was physically born, clothes torn
Rough tacklin' the streets, Allah Math' spine Technics

We bring heat to the block party, drinkin' Bacardi
Baggin' shorties for the homies who ain't here


[Chorus: both to fade]

[Tiffany: overlapped by chorus]

Bobby, that's right, you ain't %#@!, ^!$$%
You ain't %#@!, but a big dick and a motha$#&@in' cheque
All that $#&@in' Brooklyn %#@!, Shaolin %#@!

^!$$%, grow the $#&@ up!
What the $#&@ is up with you, ^!$$%?
You ain't %#@!, ^!$$%
Comin' in high off that %#@!
What the $#&@?

I'm tired of yo' %#@!
What the $#&@ is that %#@! anyway?
What the $#&@?
And your cousin Billy, I'm sick of that motha$#&@a
That motha$#&@a could never come up in this

motha$#&@in' house ever again
He's a criminal motha$#&@in' gangsta, see that %#@!?
A criminal, I'm sick of that %#@!
I'm sick of yo' %#@!, Bobby [echoes]
Brooklyn this, Shaolin that

What the $#&@, ^!$$%?
I don't know why I love your stupid $$# anyway
Pssh.. but I do love you Bobby