I Shot Ya (Remix)

[Produced by Trackmasters] [Intro: Keith Murray] Ha! Yeah (Ha, ha, ha) L.O.D.  Keith Murray Def Squad (Def Squad) Mr., Mr., Mr. Smith You want a hit? (Uh) Give me a hour, plus a pen and a pad Yo [Verse 1: Keith Murray] I'm here to make a dollar out of fifteen cents And let my balls hang, like I'm on a toilet taking a shit My style is all that and a big bag of chips with the dip (Drip) Fuck all that sensuous shit (Drip) I represent intellectual violence And leave your clique holier than the Ten Commandments Like Redman, I shift with the ruck If your "if" was a spliff, we'd be all fucked up (Word up) No need to ask you "Who is he?" – son, I get busy Scuff my Timbs on the boulevard on many rough cities (Chicago, L.A., any of 'em) I'll have to Norman Bate' you (Yeah) I love ta hate you cause you's a freak by nature Can't wait to face ya, mutilate ya Drink your style down straight with no chaser (Word up) My verbal combat's like a mini-MAC to your back (Uh-huh) As soon as one of you niggas try to overreact (Blaow!) The L.O.D. love good confrontation or vamp (Word up) Break your concentration, murder your camp (Haha) For the jealous, overzealous, we fellas Blow the spot like Branford Marsalis (Bom-bom-bom, bom-bom-bom) Niggas coming through and acting wild (Word) Y'all commercial niggas better have a Coke and a smile I shot ya! [Verse 2: Prodigy] I conversate with many men (What), it's time to begin again Forgot what I already knew (ayo), you hear me, friend? Illuminati want my mind, soul, and my body Secret society, trying to keep they eye on me (Nah, nah) But I'ma stay incogni', in places they can't find me Make my moves strategically, the G.O.D.  It's sorta similar, but iller than a chess player I use my thinker, it coincides with my blinker While you wondered what we saying on the records real (What) Yeah, you motherfucking right, kid, you know the deal My Mobb is Infamous, just like the fuckin' title read You get back-slapped so hard, make ya nose bleed (Ahh!) Some Def kids feeling guilty 'bout the space shit The truth hurts, baby girl, so just face it (Alright) But anyway, back on the real side of things My niggas sling cracks and wear fat diamond rings Not only is it inside the songs that we sing (Kid) Everything is real, not just a song that we sing (Word up) From my life to the paper (What), very accurately Give you all of my two so maybe you can three Prodigy will forever S-H-I-N-E (Shine, baby, shine, shine, yeah) My shit attract millions like the moon attract the sea How dare you ever in your life walk past me (What) Without acknowledging this man as G-O-D I shot your faggot ass [Verse 3: Fat Joe] Ugh, now, who the fuck you think you talking to? I pay dues, I spray crews Look, I'm Joey Crack, motherfuckers be like, "He's bad news" Runnin this racket, from New York to Montego Slaughtering people, bring a ton of keys from Puerto Rico I'd rather be feared than loved, because the fear lasts longer These bitch-ass niggas know we stronger than these weaklings Seeking for respect that ain't there Knuckleheads beware, there's mad tension in the air Tommy guns for fun, shotties for block parties While fresh lead heats up your insides like a fifth of Bacardi Call the ambulette, this man's wet Bullets cut him down from the root up just like a Gillette Razor—which I keep hidden in my oral Ready to spat out at any adult that wants to quarrel These Feds want me for some tax evasion Mad at the fact that somebody's getting lucci that's not Caucasian Bullets be blazing through these streets filled with torture Joey Crack A.K.A. Keyser Söze [Verse 4: Foxy Brown] What the deal, pop? Ugh Thug niggas give they minks to chinks, tore down We sip drinks, rockin' minks, flashin' rings and things (On the real) Frontin' hardcore, deep inside the Jeep, mackin' Doin' my thing, fly nigga, you a Scarface king (Uh) Bitches, grab ya ta-tas, get them niggas for they cheddar Fuck it, Gucci sweaters and Armani leathers (Uh) Flossin' rocks like the size of Fort Knox Four carats, the ice rocks, pussy bangin' like Versace locs, pops (So what the deal?) Wanna creep? Open like raw asscheeks I'm sexin' raw-dog without protection, disease infested, uh! Italiano, got the Luciano I gets down, fuckin' with Brown, Fox, extra keys to the drop Boo, I'm jingling, baby (Ugh, yeah yeah) I got crazy Dominicans who pay me to lay low, I play slow Roll with The Firm, mafioso crime kingpin It all real, nigga, what the deal? I shot ya! [Verse 5: LL Cool J] What the fuck? I thought I conquered the world Crushed Moe Dee (Uh), Hammer, and Ice-T's girls But still, niggas want to instigate shit I'll battle any nigga in the rap game quick Name the spot, I make it hot for you bitches Female rappers too, I don't give a fuck, boo Word, I'm here to crush all my peers 'Rhymes of the Month' in The Source for twenty years Niggas scared, I'm detrimental to your mental state I use my Presidential Rolex to be the bait Niggas fight, Glock cocked, ya temple gets fucked MCs that fuck with LL, they gets bucked That's real, what's up with that "I Shot Ya" deal? Light shit, niggas slip, now, how the bullet feel? New York appeal, in L.A., they gangbang But if you touch a mic, your motherfuckin' ass hang That's facts, niggas don't receive no type of slack 'Cause if they do (Uh), they ass is always runnin' back (Yeah) Not this time, but next time, I'ma name names LL, shitting from on top of the game I shot ya!