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Talk to me manThis ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the motherfucking noise upWe'll get right into the proceedings this eveningHeadphones are distorting, bring it down a lil' bitOkay, now we working with itThe boy Face on the bass line, Face - Mob!Welcome to New York City, it's ya boy Young Hov' cheaKanye West on the track (whoo!) Chi-Town, what's going on now?Can I talk to y'all for a minute? Lemme talk to y'all for a minuteJust gimme a minute of ya time baby - I don't want much (whoo!)Lemme talk to these motherfuckers, uhhGuess who's bizack?You still smelling crack in my clothesDon't make me have to relapse on these hoesTake it back out to taxing them roadsWhen I was hugging it, niggas couldn't do nothing with itStraight from the oven with it, came from the dirtI emerged from it all without a stain on my shirtYou can blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in meStill with me, pain plus workShit she made me milk this game for all it's worthThat's right, these niggas can't fuck with meI'm calling guts every time, drag my nuts every timeHomey, we make a great combination don't we?Me and the Face Mob, every time we face-offLetras de cancionesFace it y'all, y'all niggas playing basic ballI'm on the block like I'm eight feet tallHomey, I'm in the drop with the AC onThat's why the, streets embrace me dawg, I'm so cool!Guess who's bizack?Back on the block with the old Face MobMack Mittens and Hov'Don't make me relapseBack to the block with the fo'Cuz this street shit is all I knowFrom the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoonTrying to make me forty thousand and moveMotels, star-studded, rock stars and goonsPlain clothes wanna run in my roomBut nigga guess who's bizack? It's ya boy Face MobStarted with an eightball, gotta get this cake dawgGive niggas a break, nah, you know how the game goFuck you think I slang fo', to go against the grain (no)I'm out here to grind mo', rapped up in the paper chaseI wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88Don't got no wholesale, cause that ain't how I wanna run itHere take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundredGotta see my feet dude, you do shit a fiend doThe fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets foolMoney is an issue, and that's on the fa' shizzle my nizzleYa block warm, then I come by with the fizzleAnd make fa' sho' I get to work mines, for part of the timeWe go to war and you ain't making a dime (ha ha!)Cause I got, shit to lose, a nigga out here payin his duesMy baby walking gotta get him some shoesIt's a new game doing, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the bluesIt's a new game doing, lemme give ya the rulesGet outta line and I'ma give ya the blues, whoa!Guess who's bizack?The boy B. Mizack, a.k.a. Mr. Crack-A-BrickTurn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered thisYou can smell it once the plastic ripsA hot plate'll make ya swell up if ya gasket clickedYou can make ya chips swell up, ya don't have to pitchPlay them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switchYoung'n never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitzAnd keep ya whole hood on flip, like on box-springPissy Mack and shit, low old box of thingsStrictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of waterShit I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarterTill like deuce in the morning, with the old headsSlanging loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted (had it)Still fucking with them crack addictsStill busting with that black-maticGuess who's bizack?Back on the block with the old Face MobMack Mittens and Hov'Don't make me relapseBack to the block with the fo'Cuz this street shit is all I know From Letras Mania