The Diplomats - I Really Mean It Lyrics

(Oh Major, don't go)
Young Guru, Just Blaze, Killa
Diplomats, huh
Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Freeky Zeekey
Hoffa, Dash, uh
Killa, uh

Y'all niggas dreamed it, I've seen it
Body warm, heart anemic (I really mean it)
Coke, a nigga steamed it, fiends I leaned 'em
Beemer leaned it (I really mean it)
Guns, really beamin', rarely miss, what's really good?
Bikes, wheelie and creamin' (I really mean it)
I'ma genius, Papadopoulos, never lenient
On your Zenith (I really mean it)
Killa, bag me more mutts, they actually all ducks
Caddy more trucks, it's Daddy Warbucks
And you Orphan Annie, ma, take off your panties
Seat soft and sandy (I really mean it)
Yeah, let's get lost in candy
I got lofts in Boston, Austin, flossin', of course Miami
Reno, Nevada, sip piña colada
Mama, I've seen on the Prada (I really mean it)
I rock, Mauri, Fennix
Road to glory, seen it, you seen it (I really mean it)
The game abuse it, it's pain in music
But this year, wrist wear remains the bluest
I get lame and lose it, beef? Came to do it
Aim and shoot it, flames turn your brains to fluid
Y'all just kids, see what I just did
Take a couple bars off, let Just live

Yeah, now that's powerful music, man
You need to pop somethin' and roll somethin' (I really mean it)
Killa we did it, man
I got your back forever, Dipset (I really mean it)
And them lames, we pop them sideways
And drag them faggots (I really mean it)

Okay, we back in
Mami, listen (I really mean it)
Ayo, lock my garage, rock my massage
F*ck it, bucket by Osh Kosh Bgosh
Golly I'm gully, look at his galoshes
Gucci, gold, platinum plaque collages
From collabos, ghost writin' for assholes
Wanna use my brain, they give Killa mad dough
It's all good, increase Killa cash flow
Increase my fame, that's why Killa smash hoes
You'll get side swiped, look at my life
First movie ever, merked out Mekhi Phife' (that's my man though)
And papi got jerked out of pies twice
Dipset, we workin' with five dice
Cee-lo and craps, c-notes and stacks
I send bodies with, "Read this note" attached
Ya youngin' f*cked with boys in the hood
Gave her a son like Ricky from "Boyz in the Hood"
On the couch bloody, old lady sighin'
Wifey screamin'
Pissy little baby cryin'
F*cked up man, shit, there you seen it (I really mean it)
Fam, man, you terry cloth, that mean you very soft
Gravy Mercedes, add the cranberry sauce

Yeah, gangstas ride, man (Killa)
Flex we got you, guns up (I really mean it)
And all my ladies, man, the ghetto, saditty
I need you, I want you (I really mean it)
Oh, pop somethin', roll somethin'
Get twisted, that's on Jim, nigga (I really mean it)
Harlem! Man, we here to stay
It's nothin' left to say, man, Eastside (I really mean it)
And as for that lame, man, Nasir
I ain't even gon' say your last name
'Cause that's mine, I catch you
You know what it is, you faggot
I ain't gon' get to hype on you, man
We gon' bury ya
Holla, see if you 'bout it, 'bout it
'Cause we is (I really mean it)
NYC