Cam Ron Straight Harlem Lyrics

[Intro: Cam'ron]
You know that if you don't know nothing else, nigga
I can't wait for my block to get it together man
Story so fucking crazy man
Wish the big homies would come together man
Tell their story man
I'll tell you a taste of what I know though

[Verse 1: Cam'ron]
I-I, I had to beg the big homie Reg not to rob Steph Marbury
This the same year that he got drafted
I said "That's my man"
He said "He got that Rollie on and that's my shit
Tell him to leave or I'ma start snatching"
"You got it OG, I don't want no problems big or small"
I knew they was wilding when niggas robbed Biggie Smalls
These niggas cray-cray, I got to get away-way
Until then I'ma spray anything moving if it's mayday
Toughest in my hood nah, but I am not for play-play
On the East side, my niggas had hand grenades and AK's
Plus nobody love me more, more than my nigga AJ
And be in Grand projects anytime I'm on vacay
I still will get masked up with the MAC tucked
Yeah I'm back up with no backup
This cap bust, it's like getting hit by Mack trucks
Slow money's for show money
But Harlem 'bout that fast buck
Pre-gentrified, only white I seen was bagged up

[Interlude 1: Jim Jones]
What's up
Ain't nothing changed but the color of the money
These new hundred dollar bills, huh
How that look
Jones

[Verse 2: Jim Jones]
I'm on 7th Ave with my karats on (Right)
Double park with my hazards on (Wassup?)
On the block, God bless the dead when my nigga Light had had the bomb (RIP)
Word bond, 40 dealt before school start (It's a fact nigga)
In a school zone and the teacher talkin' 'bout school smarts
From the same hood as [?] and Big Dave
Hoop dreams turn coupe dreams
And we sold crack where kids play (What else?)
Live on Lenox, fell dead in a vacant lot
[?] trying to make salat
[?] 15th and I had work tried to make us a lot
Cooked it up in a fiend's house
All he wanted was to scrape the pot
Rich nigga and I'm sittin' on crates still
Real, real nigga, got a bitch on 8th still

[Interlude 2: Shoota93]
Oh niggas know I'm Harlem, Shoota!
Pull up in that GT 63 S
Motherfucking seats bleeding like a muh'fucka, yeah

[Verse 3: Shoota93]
I'm a, I'm a 12 street delegate, prophet of [?]
Men y'all look up to is not who I celebrate
I was raised by killers that rose Hell and pissed on Heaven gates
I was taught by robbers that robbed the robbers but that's a separate case
In my priceless state I'm getting money, I never press the brakes
Dude die, don't tell me that shit 'bout he in a better place
Move forward and elevate in the spirit of players that used to score
I remind him of Hen Dog when he pulled up in that Coupe before
I remind of Al Fierce, I might shoot right through the door
You remind me of Larry, he [?] facing a two to four
Get nasty when these plays are running
[?] you right through the war
Old Harlem, break the rules then I don't fuck with you no more

[Outro]
I'm straight Harlem World, Harlem World, Ha-Ha-Harlem World
I'm straight Harlem World, Harlem World, Ha-Ha-Harlem World
I'm straight Harlem World, Harlem World, Ha-Ha-Harlem World
I'm straight Harlem World, Harlem World, Ha-Ha-Harlem World