This Is Family (feat. Ransom, Freck Billionaire, Red Cafe, Joe Budden & Paul Cain)

Fabolous

Hip-Hop/Rap

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聆聽 Fabolous 的「From Nothin' To Somethin' (Bonus Track Version)」

ALBUMFrom Nothin' To Somethin' (Bonus Track Version)Fabolous

PLAYLISTHip-Hop/R&B-Hits: 2007Apple Music Hip-Hop/Rap International

PLAYLISTFabolous EssentialsApple Music Hip-Hop/Rap International

PLAYLISTPop-Hits: 2007Apple Music Pop

PLAYLISTVerzuz Cheat Sheet: Fabolous x JadakissApple Music

PLAYLISTDon Cannon: The ProducersApple Music Hip-Hop/Rap International

PLAYLISTVerzuz-Cheatsheet: T-Pain x Lil JonApple Music

PLAYLISTVerzuz-Cheatsheet: Timbaland x Swizz BeatzApple Music

PLAYLISTVerzuz-Cheatsheet: Johnta Austin x Ne-YoApple Music

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積分

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN

Fabolous

Stimme und Gesang

Freck Billionaire

Stimme und Gesang

Joe Budden

Stimme und Gesang

Paul Cain

Stimme und Gesang

Ransom

Stimme und Gesang

Red Cafe

Stimme und Gesang

KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT

Joe Budden

Songwriter:in

Paul Cain

Songwriter:in

Stephen Hacker

Songwriter:in

John Jackson

Songwriter:in

S. Novelli

Songwriter:in

Jermaine Denny

Songwriter:in

William Weatherspoon

Songwriter:in

Angelo Bond

Songwriter:in

Devin Copeland

Songwriter:in

Jeffrey Whitters

Songwriter:in

PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK

Ken "Supa Engineer" Duro

Mischtechniker:in

Dan Tobiason

Mischtechnikerassistent:in

Chris Athens

Mastering-Ingenieur:in

Jordan "DJ Swivel" Young

Aufnahmeingenieur:in

Nova

Produzent:in

歌詞

[Verse 1]

Where the fuck's all these **** saying "Ran' isn't hot"?

I damage the block, I scramble like Randall with rocks

I'm that **** in the gambling spot

Cracking jokes and drinking liquor

You still gotta hand me your watch

I'm in the kitchen with the pans and the pots

Razor on the plate, trying to figure out how many grams I'ma chop

Family or not, some **** making plans with the cops

Trying to figure out how to make this animal stop

Who these **** trying to take down?

Break down, tray pound, eight rounds

He ain't feeling nothing from the waist down

Hit up, lit up, he never gon' get up

There's only one legend alive, the rest you gotta dig up

You acting like it's hard to roast ya

I'll creep in your crib, and put your brains on your Barkley posters

Got no time to be boxin' around

I got the ox and the pound

I'll leave you in the box in the ground

Got the keys to the game, and we lockin' this down

Underwater with the sharks, and we not gonna drown

Got the order from the narcs, they still watchin' the town

I'm coppin' a pound

They ain't no stopping us now, my ****

[Verse 2]

Ya clip trip, clip spit, get your strip wet

I got the rubber grip Smif in my rich sweats

Player haters talking 'bout they gon' get Freck

I'm in the Lamb' sunk lower than a shipwreck

They call me bar-for-bar 'cause I spit the better lines

The white bitch got me rich like Federline

Fuck a G-pack, I'll show you how to re' crack

You get it soft, and then you rock it like T-Mac

The weed good price, plus it smoke so speci

Three thousand for a pound of some Dro pesci

Y'all **** only talkers

I'll let my homies spark ya

We in spurs that's faster than Tony Parker

This is family, ****, don't ever cross my brother

Like Big Worm, **** rather cross they mother

Mention names in my family tree

This **** talking crazy like insanity plea

I swear to god, the next **** I give it to

Is going to a place FedEx can't deliver to

I'm West Philly Freck, yeah, I get dirty

I'm the best, hands down, like six-thirty

[Verse 3]

Look

Like Michael J. Fox, I got "Family Ties"

Opposing us can't be wise, swept across the family dies

Something small as a look, can bring about a man's demise

And whoever he stands beside, hit him where he can't survive

Throw the drop or slip an object, if not then missing

Nine shot, pop a clip in, pine box the opposition

Put him in formal dress, right hand across the left

No autopsy necessary to determine the cause of death

Six shots across the chest should explain his loss of breath

Skin peeled off your flesh, I know you wish you wore a vest

That's a no brainer, I'm coming with both flamers

I'll spray 'em, but I'm no painter

To this here, I'm no stranger

It's obvious you no bangers

You dudes pose no danger

Your whole crew chumps, in the closet like coat hangers

Like purple broke up in the dutch

Leave you broke up on a crutch

That's what happens when shooters choke up in the clutch

We gonna body you and have to hook your wife to an I.V., too

Put both of your parents side by side in the I.C.U

Closed casket so they can't have a proper wake

Don't interfere with family business, that's how we operate

[Verse 4]

**** is lettin' birds turn the tables on they squad

You need help with a jump, got some cables in the car

'Cause they all become nondescript

When something bright is on your wrist

Like you repping the bionic six

Who want fire, when guns fire, your lungs tire

I'm an idol, **** is Sanjaya, now who wanna try us?

That four-five will spit

I'll slump you in the driver seat

And make you really ghost ride the whip

It's real talk, shade **** couldn't get a tan from me

'Cause I get in the ring for that Vince McMahon money

Soon as I un-tuck blam, talking about you tough scrams

I'm coming through your window, something like "Bruh Man"

It's just who we are, if I see y'all, it's E.R

Vacay in D.R., shirt and jeans, G-star

Tell me how they gon' manage

Lettin' off Virgina Tech's now, dudes ain't even safe on campus

Gotta spaz on cowards

Every twenty-four, every half-hour

**** be trying to be Jack Bauer

So let fam' keep talking

And you gon' need a "Weekend At Bernie's"

If you tryin' to see a "Dead Man Walking"

[Verse 5]

I guess it's left to me, the popcorn slinger, to pop off ****

Callouses on my pop finger, pop off ****

Pop through, throw the drop, kick the lock off dump

'Fore them bodies drop out, six Glocks in the trunk

Chef boy supplyin', whip whop is dryin'

When they move that, more whip whop arrivin'

And my connect from Phoenix, the connect named Felix

Still keep the iron like my right hand anemic

For the family, I'll be squeezin', no reason

Blood work, nobody leavin' this bitch breathin'

**** on the low, kidnapped my flow

Coulda asked for it, I woulda gift wrapped my flow

Don't gotta ask for it, I'm gonna sit back the fo'

Flip it around, let the handle crack your jaw

Eastside, Westside, I be in my Converse

This a convict rappin', it's a con's verse

Arm & Hammer mis-man, Los, Joey, or Ris-am

All they gotta do is chirp, and them things are gonna blis-am

Shake down, fiz-am

Straight from the Brooklyn borough that never riz-an

Blackout, blackout

[Verse 6]

Now if they get me on wire traces

I'ma die in comstock

I got prior cases from riding with firearms cocked

Fire bomb box, set up by your mom's block

Go off on time' cause it's wired by alarm clock

I get his legs, you grab him by his arms, akh

We gonna go this liar harm while his crying moms watch

Last seen in Brooklyn, they found 'em by a Bronx lot

Rifles from the roof, yeah, we got him by a long shot

We don't fire warn shots, **** fire on SWAT

And if they get me, Brooklyn gon' riot on spot

I'm from the hood, so I'm supplyin' bomb rock

'Round here that's better than buyin' from Viacom stock

Look, you can't hold nothing, but I got a shell to give

I'll make his relative show me where the fella live

Ain't that his baby sis', get up in this Mayby' miss

'Fore I pull this curtain, start squirtin' like baby piss

If he ain't heard yet, bet that get the word buzzin'

You send a message when you kill a **** third cousin

Niece, nephew, they gonna need Tef' too

This'll a go in and out they chest like a breath do

You Clay Aiken-soft

You playing games until this red light's on ya

It's like the Playstation's off

Smif-N-Wesson work, Luger nine labor

Professional shit like they did Leon's neighbors

[Verse 7]

This is family, ****, do not cross the brothers

I'll put you in the box, one hand across the other

A small price to pay, son, it might cost your mother

One of your grandparents, even your baby brother

'Cause everybody knows, everybody goes

I want 'em in coffins, everybody's closed

Related by the streets, this is family beef

So you better not touch a branch on this family tree

****

Written by: A.J. Bond, D. Copeland, J. Budden, Jeffrey Whitters, Jermaine Denny, John Jackson, P. Cain, S. Novelli, Stephen Hacker, William Weatherspoon

This Is Family (feat. Ransom, Freck Billionaire, Red Cafe, Joe Budden & Paul Cain)

Fabolous

Hip-Hop/Rap

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