I... I Get It,
I... I Get It,
Yeah,
I Run Philly
I... I Get It,
I... I Get It,
Yeah, Yeahh, I Run Philly! BITCH
All you niggas know I'm gettin tha bread
Cause everything I spill I'll I'm kinda sick to my head
And my grip so big even if it hit you fingertips
You'd be dead but you get hit in your head p-lat
Cause I ain't from tha city of suckas
Philly is tha city of plenty of gun busters
And I go by the name of tha hustler
Imy life rough but I seen niggas with rougher
I'm not a liar, kniever or bluffer
I'm ballin but be in tha street just like tha rucker
And this nothin new this what I do
Then crossed over like skip to my lou
And you can bet it all in a battle I never lost
Because I was never soft I'm a preditor I set it off
You know tha feds involved we sprayin tha letty volve
And I'm marryin my gun I ain't callin tha weddin off
Never ya'll and my fiance my gat you can say we been attached
Since way way back it's like I can't stay away
Every day I'm strapped they say tha mac go p-ling
But tha k go p-lac when I was locked in tha cling you
Was better off whatever I said it ya'll it ain't nothin to set it off
And if it's beef it ain't nothin to let it off
Big small short tall I'm like it's whatever ya'll
I'm a boss I got cheddar to floss
I don't look at tha price because whatever it cost I got it ya'll
I... I Get It,
I... I Get It,
Yeah,
I Run Philly
I... I Get It,
I... I Get It,
Yeah, Yeahh, I Run Philly!
Ay yo I go by tha name of tha problem
Writer(s): Christopher Wallace, Roy Ayers, James Bedford, Lamont Porter, Sylvia Denise Striplin
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