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"Shoot Up The Party (Remix)" lyrics by FES TAYLOR
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"Shoot Up The Party (Remix)"
[feat. Dainjamental, Inspectah Deck, Solomon Childs]


[Inspectah Deck:]
G street, mobbing with the knuckleheads
Scrapping with the police, busting over something said
We don't buy the bars out, clown, we bringing bottles in
Polishing the floor, make 'em CMG, giant 'em
Front, you got a problem, then, hit 'em while they hollering
They hating cause we making ten more, for every dollar spent
Turn the party out, give 'em something they can talk about
Walk it out, icey cause I'm cold like the hawk was out
Fly nigga, fly whipper, Vodka with the lime sipper
Prize winner, talk about money I can vibe witcha
Try nigga, you can be the overnight celebrity
I bang heavily, like Wise, for those who rep for me
S.I.N.Y., 10304 with me
No respect for your weak set or law authority
Tried to let 'em live but the kid still forcing me
Come on, bitch, hit the dance floor, you wanna war with me?

[Chorus: Dainjamental]
Whoa, I said we shooting up your party
Buck, one lick a thing and hidey
Summa say so, buck, you gon' dance with your shotty
Hidey hidey, ya'll better get hidey
Summa say whoa, we shooting up your party
Licka, runna, true it, like a hidey
And he say whoa, hey now, me gun stand aside me
When the club get crazy

[Fes Taylor:]
We shooting up the party, rowdy like a biker on a Harley
Police try to can me like sardines
Gun in my LRG jeans, pardon me
Walk my way through the crowd, see a nigga who shot at me
Party over three shots of Henny, so I'm hardly sober
Catch him after the club, by then, parked the Rover
I can get him now, throw on some hard shit
Guaranteed a fist fight, snuff before I give a pound
We did it now, tap my shoulder I spin around
Back out the hammer, spit a round
And I don't dare, stop drop and poplock
Your bitch all in my face, haters'll cock block
Above average MC, go 'head and challenge me
Still blowing bud looking like I got allergies
I been slamming for a salary
Sell crack for an income, a couple thou' for these

[Chorus]

[Solomon Childs:]
Let's go, bouncers on the payroll
Open fire on the VIP, watch a nigga drop and roll
Chains we want 'em, red carpet niggas, silk shirt, young Magnum
Cameras flashing, as well the ratchet's flashing
Pop bottles of Roset with the villians
Represent New York City club killings
Walk in smelling like a million, swagger on the zillion
Paper game brazy, bar game brazy
Kush got me wavy, damn I'm saucy
Six baby mamas in the party, all these broads saucy
Somebody fucking dead it, first nigga front
We gon' send a block his dead

[Chorus]

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