Lyrics Family Reunion - Joe Budden
It's
that
time
again
It's
been
too
long
It's
family
reunion
Mic
check,
mic
check
We
got
school
yard
to
check
(one
two,
one
two)
You
know,
let's
talk
talk
Let's
go
The
wolf
is
out,
nigga
Get
them,
boy
Ain't
nobody
trying
to
rap
or
play
me
I'll
be
at
they
crib
with
a
couple
hammers
and
a
black
old
AV
Black
gon'
pay
me,
still
get
the
smack
off
Baisley
'Cause
I'm
touching
more
diesel
than
Shaq
old
lady
Boy
you
did
it,
I
done
it,
I
get
it,
I
punish
The
shit
that
I
come
with'll
seperate
a
rib
from
your
stomach
I'm
the
boss,
when
I
spit
it,
you
love
it
Matter
fact,
I'm
a
Viking
I
need
a
whole
village
to
plumage
Yeah,
the
nigga
is
here,
the
city
is
scared
You
got
the
throne
Then
I
think
I
need
to
sit
in
your
chair
We
could
really
get
physical
here
And
the
sky's
the
limit
nigga,
I
put
your
whole
clique
in
the
air
Baby,
so
quit
playing,
'fore
the
clips
spray
'em
And
have
his
ass
M.I.A.
like
Nick
Saban
His
whole
shit
caved
in,
my
whole
clique
cavemen
Hard-bodied
nigga,
my
whole
shit
pavement
You
can't
spit
if
you
dead
in
the
ground
In
the
woods,
where
your
head'll
be
found
And
it's
good
that
you
getting
it
now,
in
the
precinct
confessing
it
now
I
can't
fuck
with
the
rest
of
you
clowns,
faggot
High
in
the
silence
before
the
storm
Lincoln
Park,
the
Audubon
Slang
rock,
on
the
same
block
that
the
water
on
I
be
more
than
gone,
run
and
get
your
order
form
Next
time
I
record
a
song,
gon'
put
my
daughter
on
'Cause
she
realer
than
most
niggas
I
tote
triggers
for
you
broke
niggas
and
gold
diggers
with
no
fingers
That
why
I
palm
the
heater,
for
all
you
non-believers
I'm
on
your
ass
like
white
on
Rice,
I'm
Condoleezza
Better
con
the
preacher,
you
trying
to
get
on
a
feature
Better
get
your
casket,
bastard,
I'm
gon'
eat
ya
We
ain't
in
the
same
weight
class
Your
fake-ass
couldn't
stop
a
nigga
with
brake
pads
I'm
way
past
anything
that
you
ever
did
I'm
better
kid
and
we
never
sweat
a
bid
It's
easy
to
get
a
cig
In
the
bing,
I'm
like
Ving
Rhames,
I
bring
pain
I
sling
'caine
off
the
wing
like
I'm
King
James
Y'all
doubting
who
When
I
spit
the
whole
lead,
they
be
calling
Code
Red
like
Mountain
Dew
'Fore
I
count
to
two,
you
could
get
your
back
blown
'Cause
your
gimmicks
out
of
minutes
like
a
TracFone
Get
back
homes,
I'm
back
on
my
shit
I
don't
mingle,
I'm
like
Pringles
stacking
my
chips
Clapping
my
fifth,
you
the
test
me
type
Coming
out
with
a
blade
to
get
Wesley
sniped
So
the
cops
could
arrest
me,
right
It's
not
happening
You
ain't
ever
gonna
get
on,
so
stop
rapping
H20
coming
this
summer,
so
stop
asking
All
heat
like
Wall
Street,
ya
stock
crashing
Now
the
Feds
want
to
read
his
rights
Lord
have
mercy,
Jesus
Christ,
I
got
passion
I'm
Black
and
all
my
niggas
getting
this
'feti
We
in
the
Chevy
and
ready
to
pop
tags,
oh
Do
whatever
you
trying
to
do,
little
niggas,
I
already
done,
done
And
since
you
want
to
live
by
it,
little
nigga,
then
die
by
the
gun,
gun
See,
whatever
you
trying
to
do,
little
nigga,
I've
already
done,
done
So
how
the
fuck
you
gon'
win,
little
nigga?
I've
already
won,
won
Hey
yo,
money
is
the
root
of
all
evil,
I
thought
But
when
I'm
broke
is
usually
when
I
have
the
evilest
thoughts
That's
when
the
arms
come
out,
like
sleeves
when
it's
short
With
more
bullets
than
your
favorite
wide
receiver
has
caught
And
that
Randy
Mossberg,
ya
Steve
Smith
and
Wesson
ya
The
shoes
pop
up
like
Instant
Messenger
You've
got
mail,
no,
nigga
you
got
shells
And
my
Mac,
you
can't
use
for
iChat
I've
got
that,
confused
that
with
live
flat
And
my
gat
is
on
leg
like
thigh
tat
I
that
nigga,
who
you
dudes?
Some
broke
niggas
who
tryin'
to
get
some
Youtube
views
So
'less
you
want
a
point
blank,
boy
you're
too
close
Bail's
in
pocket,
this
is
Lawyer
Lou
Los
I'm
pretty
sure
more
hotties
seen
me
in
that
four-door
ridey
Double
pipes
like
a
sawed
off
shotty,
nigga
I
flow
sickly,
riding,
bumping
old
Biggie
Roll
with
me
or
lose
weight,
Nicole
Richie
Fuck
plat,
if
I
don't
reach
diamond
fame
I
treat
a
nigga's
face
like
the
old
Simon
game
Figured
out
why
men
try
us
'Cause
we
OD
on
rims
and
thin
tires,
for
that
we
Len
Bias
All
it
takes
is
a
punch
He
ain't
brave,
he
a
punk
I'll
put
his
family
in
boxes,
meet
the
Brady
Bunch
How
y'all
feel
yourselves?
Should
kill
yourselves,
us
cowboys
don't
need
you,
you
bill
parcells
And
you
ain't
got
to
empty
your
pockets
when
the
K's
out
Whatever
you
holding
is
mine,
we
my
PayPal
Don't
get
how
this
guy
is
a
threat
I
make
his
life
inept
for
a
pie
to
the
neck
Ride
or
die,
I
do
both
nigga,
ride
to
the
death
A
cappella
the
whole
left
side
of
his
chest
Not
retiring,
still
got
that
pension
pending
Trying
to
pop
the
hood
and
see
the
engine
missing
Double-barreled
shotgun,
have
your
men
get
missing
She
got
pretty
brown
eyes
and
she
in
mint
condition
Oh
the
cig
in
the
car,
you
dissin'
moi
Take
the
ratchet,
go
home
and
just
Chris
Benoit
Tell
a
bird
like
it
is,
you
promise
the
broad
I
one-line
her,
you
Isiah
Thomas,
the
broad
I
could
send
a
clique
cartridge
at
a
nemesis
target
And
catch
a
ROR
on
some
Jena
Six
charges
Nah,
I'll
put
this
thing
away
I
don't
even
need
a
whole
hairdo
to
clip
em,
all
it
take
is
one
finger
wave
Been
in
the
bing
for
days,
show
you
how
I'm
real
Come
home
to
the
truck
with
the
Optimus
Prime
grill
Handed
out
crack,
got
the
scene
poppin'
off
They
not
sleepin
on
'em,
the
fiends
is
nodding
off
All
real,
tell
me
how
you
a
thug
and
you
Superman
I
just
seen
you
in
the
club
doing
the
Superman
A
bunch
of
clowns'
homes
All
I
need
in
this
world
is
the
pound
chrome,
Huxtable
brown
stone
Major
paper,
cake
by
the
layers
If
these
dudes
is
live,
I'm
the
Create-A-Player
They
callin
'em
Kings
when
they
so,
so
hot
Something's
wrong
with
that
picture,
must
be
Photoshop
I
don't
promote
violence,
but
when
sparkin
the
flame,
blame
Arms
start
waving
like
the
Carlton
Banks
dance
When
them
tools
go
pop,
it
move
whole
blocks
Come
around
with
your
dog
and
get
Kujo
shot
These
MC's
is
lame,
I
try
to
be
a
MC
with
brains
These
niggas
is
MC
Brains
Being
nice,
rappers
is
far
from
being
nice
I'm
on
the
rooftop
recording,
niggas
is
being
sniped,
it's
like
Do
whatever
you
trying
to
do,
little
niggas,
I
already
done,
done
And
since
you
want
to
live
by
it,
little
nigga,
then
die
by
the
gun,
gun
See,
whatever
you
trying
to
do,
little
nigga,
I've
already
done,
done
So
how
the
fuck
you
gon'
win,
little
nigga?
I've
already
won,
won
It's
a
rat,
no
more,
go
back
to
your
regular
schedule,
girlfriend
It's
the
public
service
that's
next...
![Joe Budden - Mood Muzik 3: The Album](https://pic.Lyrhub.com/img/m/4/g/j/9dwnwyjg4m.jpg)
1 Dear Diary
2 Hiatus
3 Family Reunion
4 Get No Younger
5 Un4Given
6 All of Me
7 Long Way to Go
8 Thou Shall Not Fall
9 Warfare
10 Roll Call
11 Secrets
12 Send Him Our Love
13 Star Inside Of Me
14 Still My Hood
15 4 Walls
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