Pointing Fingers Lyrics

Yo, only got twelve bars so let me cut to the chase

Fuckin' with Stase, I caught a buck in the face

I got the set me up, everybody's drinkin' Henney

Kid named Timmy actin' friendly

Grabbed her by offending, sure hurt 'cos his game didn't work

He didn't know the alcohol's about to get him merc

He tried to French kiss her yo, that's my man twin sister

Swung on him, but he threw the toast in my ear

I should have known he had people posted in here

So I waited till the coast was clear

And when he walked off, I put four in his rear, yeah, yeah

Yo, Hud is the type, give him an inch? He takin' a yard

'Cos see, he the type of cat that be thinkin' he hard

I told him if he gonna come, he got to come by eight

But Hud don't never listen what I say

He always do it his way, instead of our way

That's why he always caught up in some damn foul play

Talkin' 'bout I said at nine, he killin' time

And he ain't checked the time on his wrist

He probably somewhere lying to a chick

Talkin' 'bout he rich, no, it ain't right

How he gonna' leave my big brother Mase and jell overnight

He wouldn't sell us out or yell us out

But messin' with Hud, we ain't even get to bail him out

I can't believe this nigga Hud tried to blame it on me

We on the I-95, three jars on my seat

I'm hopin' cops don't be prejudiced, if not we don't eat

You know what that mean, shut up Hud, keep drivin' the jeep

We got about ten miles, we don' did ten states

I should have stayed, knowing Hud? He gonna' gas you to stay

I'm tellin' Hud, yo, pull over we ain't pissed since Penn State

The windows all foggy, plus we got temp plates

Now Hud steady streetin', not listenin' and yappin'

Smokin' Buddha straight from Cuba, 'bout to wish this ain't happen

I ain't tryin' to point no fingers but it's all Hud's fault

If he wasn't speedin' with no weed we would have never got caught

Cardie, when you gonna' grow up? You need to get chips

Stack dough up, switch your flow up, 'cos your single was a donut
World Harlem - Pointing Fingers - http://motolyrics.com/world-harlem/pointing-fingers-lyrics.html
Baby Stase, need to learn to stay in the place

And Mase, that's your twin, tell her stay out my face

And Loon, that's my man but he floss too much

He wanna hang out, 'bout, but he cost too much

And Meeno, that's my dog, but he talk too much

And Blink, fake pretty boy, soft as butt

Oh damn, if I get touched, we gonna' all get touched

Go against Harlem World and we gonna' toss you up

Hey yo, Meeno, hey yo, this is Cuda man

There go Loon tell him what you told him

You was gonna tell him when you see him

Yeah, yeah, playboy, my man Loon

Went out like a straight buffoon

For a pretty face, a slim waist, sweet perfume

Can't believe this shit

Second week in June, second night in Cancun

Pop Cris' by the full moon and the stars is bright

Pray to God that I catch me a slide tonight

But of course, Loon gets drunk then starts to floss

Runnin' his yap 'bout the same chick he toss

Same chick from tour, all I got was jaw

He's all in love, seen it all before

Sucka' for love, this is man for a whore

And until this day, still goin' to war

Hey yo, you just mad 'cos my chick drop dead

And you mad cos I went to Cancun got head

You fed, 'cos I'm doin' it and gettin' more bread

Why your block hotter than a nuclear warhead

You more fed 'cos my pockets are stacked up

While you spend most of your day baggin' your cracks up

You fat fuck

Hope you get hit by a Mack truck

And don't come around forty and front and get tapped up

Cracked up, can't wait till this album is wrapped up

I'm take you to a vacant lot, dare you to act up

So strap up, 'cos I know you don't like me

But just know you won't get a chance to fight me

Loon, all out