Lyrics Guess Who's Coming to Dinner - Dr. Alban , Michael Rose

Talk to me, man
This ya boy Young Hova, yo turn the fuckin′ noise up
We'll get right into the proceedings this evenin′
Headphones are distortin', bring it down a little' bit
Okay, now we workin′ wit′ it
The boy Face on the baseline, Face Mob
Welcome to New York City
It's ya boy Young Hov′ chea
Kanye West on the track
Chi-Town, what's goin′ on now?
Can I talk to y'all for a minute?
Let me talk to y′all for a minute
Just gimme a minute of ya time, baby
I don't want much
Let me talk to these muh'fuckas
Guess who′s bizack?
You still smellin′ crack in my clothes
Don't make me have to relapse on these hoes
Take it back out to taxin′ them roads
When I was huggin' it, niggaz couldn′t do nuttin' wit′ it
Straight from the oven wit it, came from the dirt
I emerged from it all without a stain on my shirt
You could blame my old earth, for the shit she instilled in me
Still with me, pain plus work
She made me milk this game for all it's worth, that's right
These niggaz can′t fuck with me, I′m callin' guts every time
Drag my nuts every time
Homey, we make a great combination, don′t we?
Me and the Face Mob, every time we face-off
Face i, t y'all, y′all niggaz playin' basic ball
I′m on the block like I'm eight feet tall
Homey, I'm in the drop with the AC on
That′s why the streets embrace me, dawg, I′m so cool
Guess who's bizack?
Back on the block with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and Hov′
Don't make me relapse
Back to the block with the fo′
'Cause this street is all I know
From the womb to the tomb, a hot pot of joy and a spoon
Tryna make me forty thousand and move
Motels, star-studded, rock stars and goons
Plain clothes wanna run in my room
But nigga guess who′s bizack? It's ya boy Face Mob
Started with an eightball, gotta get this cake, dawg
Give niggaz a break, nah, you know how the game go
Fuck you, think I slang fo', to go against the grain
I′m out here to grind mo′, rapped up in the paper chase
I wanna fuck a fine hoe and candy paint the 88
Don't got no wholesale, ′cause that ain't how I wanna run it
Here, take these five stones and bring a nigga back a hundred
Gotta see my feet, dude, you do shit a fiend do
The fire get too hot in the kitchen, I hit the streets fool
Money is an issue and that′s on the fa' shizzle my nizzle
Ya block warm, then I come by with the fizzle
And make fa′ sho' I get to work mines, for part of the time
We go to war and you ain't makin′ a dime
′Cause I got shit to lose, a nigga out here payin' his dues
My baby walkin′ gotta get him some shoes
It's a new game doin′, let me give ya the rules
Get out of line and I'm a give ya the blues
It′s a new game doin', let me give ya the rules
Get out of line and I'ma give ya the blues
Guess who′s bizack?
The boy B. Mizack, A.K.A. Mr. Crack-A-Brick
Turn a whole one from a half a brick, look I mastered this
You can smell it once the plastic rips
A hot plate will make ya swell up if ya gasket clicked
You can make ya chips swell up, ya don′t hafta pitch
Play them corners like a safety, watch the traffic switch
Young and never pump fake, and you'll get past the blitz
And keep ya whole hood on flip, like on box-spring
Pissy Mack and shit, low old box of things
Strictly glassy shit, I hug the block like a quart of water
Shit, I used to hug a corner like a old deuce and a quarter
Till like deuce in the mornin′, with the old heads
Slangin' loose quarters, this Philly cat back gatted
Still fuckin′ with them crack addicts, still bustin' with that black-magic
Guess who′s bizack?
Back on the block with the old Face Mob
Mack Mittens and Hov'
Don't make me relapse
Back to the block with the fo′
′Cause this street is all I know