This Thing of Ours - Q-Unique

I got white pills and white powder

It’s white Bill, sell it right over the counter

Get your hydro with a quarter-pounder

I know all about it, homie, Uncle Howie told me

I’m on top of New York, call my homie Q-Tony

Call me Bill Bixby, real shifty

You fail in your attempts to hit me like the kid that tried to kill fifty

They say that hard times inspires great music

If I have a dime you bet your life I ain’t losing

I’m a true hustler general, executive rank

The type of person that would stab you in the neck with a shank

The type of person that would beat you to death with a bat

And to make sure you dead, shoot you in your head with a gat

The world’s a ghetto, but holding never crossed me

Cause I don’t care if you a rap fan, you gonna listen to metal

Poke you with the pistol, pussy, have you pissing a puddle

Twisted and troubled, smoke you in an instant and crumble

This Thing of Ours

Who do you know?

How do you say?

How do you do?

Lay you the fuck out, out of your crew

The the honorable few

My familia to the end, throw my nine up at you

I got weapons to weaken your pride and sanity

Howie’s nephew, the Puerto Rican side of the family

Q-Capital, I’m attacking you with the mic cord

Fuck the rap battles, bitch, we gonna fight for it

I spit up for the fans and old rap for rappers

Pull up the magnum and cap all you rap bastards

The number one Wiseguy with a gun to make your eyes cry

Told your honey to lay on her stomach and raise her thighs high

Get a percentage of the corner action

The wrong reaction could get you killed and leave a former captain

Many cheat, so many rob, many kill

I seen snitches sell the family out like they was Henry Hill

I strike this lame game until the game’s hurt

I might make a name change and kill you like James Burke (?)

It’s Tony, Anthony coming with the big boy’s plans

And when it’s time to cross over I’m gonna floss with my fans

It’s a matter of trust, honor and respect

Men of few words

We got goons with burners that do the talking that you heard

Snitches and bullshiters, bitches and bean-shooters and backstabbers

I seen (?) talking to Huda

187 on the Huda cop

How do we really know you a cop, Mel?

Pop pop, send you to cop hell

Top of the world, popping the trunk for bodies to burn

We all popping bottles until Gotti returns

I’ve called for a brawl for the young feeble man to see me

Revenge in the hands of young Vito Angelini

Bullseye where your man stand at the (?)

Snatch the fame, they won’t even know what’s missing

Organized crime against labor prohibition

Since I got the after school job at the cab stand

The beat spins, I’m like Gina with deep swings

But I get nowhere unless the team wins