Текст и слова песни Shyheim – One's 4 da Money
(a.k.a a.k.a the rugged child)
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two
Chorus (x2)
One's for the money
Two's for the show
Three's for ya hooker
But we all say HOE!
My slang and my gang bows up the concrete
Like everybeing rocking
Don't sweat the technics
So you got beef
Narrow sony go get ya posse
Cause I've got a mosse, when you wear haratchies
Then you hear me kicking as I own you, it's mad ruggie
The jump on my tip, but I taught nuff to naw it
Cause I let the microphone spark right after dark
And be dropping mad skillz like my name was Pad Mark
The rebel to society
Everyone's trying me
Loking at me strange leave dim raid it'll mase me
Had I did something wrong go and my dumb
Brothers keep stressing, no shorties the one
To make it real snappy, and little nasty-nasty
Things get pawsie-pawsie
And of to be hax me
It'll little gone and still can hold you on, on
Microphone so keep licking on that wish bone
You had you're chans but you feld out on tune,
So you're hanging out with deuce, now you say that rock rues
You make me laugh as you're mom's get smoke
You get ain't like a taffy, and red like the chokes
Flow with the flow from the Wu-tang free-style
You catch yo bow-bow, And they're two's this wild, child
From the Staten the Island, the temple
Just an exemple how pop goes the pistole
Chorus (x2)
One's for the money
Two's for the show
Three's for ya hooker
But we all say, HOE!
Here comes the shortie with the tec twenty two
But If you tell Im gonna blast you
From the projects worst ghetto section
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two one two yo
Microphone check one two
Chorus (x2)
One's for the money
Two's for the show
Three's for ya hooker
But we all say HOE!
My slang and my gang bows up the concrete
Like everybeing rocking
Don't sweat the technics
So you got beef
Narrow sony go get ya posse
Cause I've got a mosse, when you wear haratchies
Then you hear me kicking as I own you, it's mad ruggie
The jump on my tip, but I taught nuff to naw it
Cause I let the microphone spark right after dark
And be dropping mad skillz like my name was Pad Mark
The rebel to society
Everyone's trying me
Loking at me strange leave dim raid it'll mase me
Had I did something wrong go and my dumb
Brothers keep stressing, no shorties the one
To make it real snappy, and little nasty-nasty
Things get pawsie-pawsie
And of to be hax me
It'll little gone and still can hold you on, on
Microphone so keep licking on that wish bone
You had you're chans but you feld out on tune,
So you're hanging out with deuce, now you say that rock rues
You make me laugh as you're mom's get smoke
You get ain't like a taffy, and red like the chokes
Flow with the flow from the Wu-tang free-style
You catch yo bow-bow, And they're two's this wild, child
From the Staten the Island, the temple
Just an exemple how pop goes the pistole
Chorus (x2)
One's for the money
Two's for the show
Three's for ya hooker
But we all say, HOE!
Here comes the shortie with the tec twenty two
But If you tell Im gonna blast you
From the projects worst ghetto section
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