N.F.L. (Not For Long)

Masta Ace:

Yeah, Yeah....Check it...

(Verse One)

All yall niggas better jet 'cause I'm a giant

Rap supplying, nigga that's raw like a Lion

I come from Brooklyn, land of robbers and Steelers

And drug dealers, that's more truck than eighteen wheelers

And last week this nigga named Ben, this drug Chief

From Brownsville that got stuck up and now it's beef

Cuz words out, that it was Shaquan from Cypress Hills

Who came off, with two hundred thou in small bills

But he forgot a Cardinal rule of the street

You do dirt, you keep your mouth shut, or feel the heat

Stupid!  The very next day he bought a Benz

And came back 'round the way waving to his friends

His brand new 420 was milked like a Cow-

Boy, screaming, "How ya'll like me now?"

But you know how niggas is, they see and they Hawk

They get jealous when you pop shit, and then they talk

And Ben got hoes on the streets as well

One of Ben Gal's overheard this kid Latrell

And he was saying, that he was down with Shaquan

And if he didn't get a green Jaguar, then it was on

He was mad, cuz his man, was living larger

And he was still driving 'round his mom's dodge Charger

With no rims and beat up timbs, he played us

Sayin he'd hold the dough, the feds could Raidas

And in two weeks, everybody'd get they cut

When Ben found out it was them he said "what?"

He got on the phone and called his little gun Packers

Cuz they dressed like Black Panthers and drive geo trackers

And Broncos, with big ass tires and dark tint

And they all carried dessert Eagles, that's how it went

(Verse Two)

It's sunday night and my team just lost

Plus the Dolphins got blown out by Randy Moss

And the Vikings, I'm inside the food spot on new lots

Gettin some chicken, that's spicy hot

With french fries, "Give me the combo, number 3"

I hear *car horn* I look outside and who I see?

I see Shaquan, pushing his Benz, it's pearl white

With white leather, he four deep, and looking tight

In his new whip, he's with these cats I've never seen

I can tell, they ain't no Saints, they lookin' mean

He pulls up, in front of this weed spot, disguised

And jumps out, drinking his Colt 45

In a tall can, he go the the door and start breakin'

On Red, who run the spot, this old Jamaican

Like forty-nine or fifty years old, he's making ends

And Shaquan be fuckin with, one of Red's Kins

Named Keisha, but anyway, they arguing

These three jeeps roll pass fast in unison

They make u-turns, and I'm like "Yo, not being rude

But word up, hurry the fuck up with my food"

But it's too late, the first jeep, the one in the lead

Rams the back of the benz at full speed

And all I could do is whistle

And watch bullets fly through the windshield like Patriot missles

The other two jeeps, jet black as Falcons pull up screeching

But Shaquan ain't reaching

Four or five cats jump out, holding heat

And check on the niggas dead up in the back seat

Red the Jamaican thows his hands in the air

He like, "Bloodclot...whats all of this Buccaneer?"

But niggas ain't care if he was down with them or not

Wrong place, wrong time, and they both got shot (gun blast)

Thirty minutes later, police is everywhere

The murder scene is way to grizzly for me to Bear

So for players, better peep this song

When you on top, feeling yourself, its Not For Long (echo to fade)

Yeah...to all my beats and rhymes niggas ...yeah...M.A....J-Love