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Harlem Streets

Cam’ron

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Dipset man Aye yo you know I've been all over the motherfucking world man But ain't no place like Harlem man (Let) me break it down man We tie dynamite to the rhino type Whine you might find yo sight Sell the information for a dime a white, that China China I'm behind the diner, selling marijuana to a minor minor Elder fella, lookin' for that shine, Ill shine ya My mind design, you a dime, I dine ya Madonna momma, body bottle, your fine, I'm finer Time to climb her, climb behind vagina Then I hime and grind her, 'til her mom remind her Diamonds blind her, visions gone, kiss her palm Turn her on, lift her arm, notice that her wrists is wrong Gotta get it right ma, we gon get along Said how don't trip, but yo the trick is wrong First visit warn, day job tick a tron Night time, missed the mom, bootleg Kris and Don Brother Chris and Don, and they sister calm They sell yay, you'll say yay, this shits the bomb Im a hit my man, tell em you my bigga pawn The rest, so yes, you'll be blessed to hit the intercom You know kisses mom, she gave him wisdom charm And they father come from a long list a dons And I get it cheaper, I cop bricks like sneakers And if the cops come, I just hit amnesia But I give you an earful, it's tearful Told my mother I hustle, and she said be careful [Chorus] Why I feel like I'm loosin' weight? Why I ain't got no money? If I'm movin' weight My life's based upon, what I'm a do this year Cop a boat, hop a layer Now the army suits cute wit my chocolate Airs You ain't gotta stare, go cop a pair Still the sweet in me, nothing they can do to me I made sure my mother and girl, is smothered in pearls When a nigga under the world Everybody like Cam got the recipe now Not them three girls I got to be Destiny's Child Specially equities, wreckin' we smile In the fear tech the tech and use the tech that we wile The tech with the septa, receptive affiliates Hectic, heckle a cock, Helicopters on the set of my sales Nah, I ain't gon be embedded in jail Talking to a cellmate in a bed in a jail, dog I broke bread with the wheel, fled from some seals And the house, I was the head of the hills, shit You get a dumb ho, and get dumb happy Go to the gun show, get gun happy Stuck, killed, mugged, milt Tone flint sticks, Bo, Chubs milk Poochi, Baba, but got the hardest shells We the Midwest gun cartel, nigga Ya, well just clap up ya brains, snatch up ya chains See dog ? rap is my aim But I'm a hust-ul-a, in my heart, trapped is the game A test of my frame, tapped to my brain, affects that remains It wasn't rap, it was crack that got the racks on the Range Look dog, don't be askin' for dames, see Playboy, I don't own that man In any way homeboy, you a grown ass man, shit And when I rap it ain't no punchlines I be on the highway dirty, crunch time No timeouts homeboy, just one time If they find that stash box, just one time? Shit, they'll put the dogs in the trunk Side of the road, holding you up, cold as a fuck They want that button, lunge it and push it Soon as they lunge it and push it, I run in the bushes That's how I play mine, jump over the grapevine Take my chances, one on one with the K9 Stealin' a clip, for anyone squealin' they lips Fuck y'all if y'all ain't feeling the dips [Chorus] --- Harlem Streets - Cam'ron

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※ Songwriter

CALDWELL, CAMERON GILES, MIKE POST

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Submitted on November 16, 2022 by Anonymous

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Cam’ron
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Cam’ron

Release Name or Album Name

Purple Haze

Record Label

Roc-A-Fella

Release Date

January 1, 2004

Language

language English

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just don't like shit tech that they time ain't with

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