We Break Bread - Lord Black: Littles Craig G.: Chaos Lyrics

Lord, Black, Littles, Craig G. & Chaos---We Break Bread 

[Intro] 
G.O.D. What's up man? 
Word up son 
I'm goin uptown. What you doin? 
I'ma leave this motherfucking money 
That's hot shit 
Let's go son 
QB shit 
Fuck everybody 

[Black] 
Who make a better entrance than a QB squad 
From guns, cracks to tracks we some QB stars 
Ain't no question 'bout who we are 
Straight poems from Shae, Nas to the bar we keepin' the hood glowin 
It's Mecca how the hood's glowin and lives changin' 
Little dunns runnin' the streets with Macs blazin' 
Young cats runnin' the streets with soap blazin' 
Now y'all know why the biggest hood could be labeled amazin' 
We stand up running songs we step to the plate 
Guaranteed to make ya hot like Kuwait 
I went from toppin' on plates 
to hittin' the Ave. and puttin up A 
Now it's thoughts, pencils, and papers provin' I'm great 
Same nigga in the hood or tourin the states 
Violator have to raise the crime rate, check my mind state 
you could see it's on a whole different level 
It's Ill Will I front Queensbridge rebel... 

[Littles] 
A '78 baby comin' up in the hood crazy 
Watchin' crack bubblin' in mid-80s now I live it daily 
Young ones with guns cockin the hammer 
Speakin' hood grammar hustlin' cracks dodgin' the slammer 
All 31s get funds runnin' raps for they dunns 
Quiet Storm so you won't hear it come heavy metal excident 
I got some seditives to make ya'll start relaxin' 
Ill Will now waitin' for the chance to keep the dough stackin' 
QB niggas waitin' for they anthem 
Look black play the cut like the phantom out front niggas 
Catch me on the 40 sideway to blunt have some liquor in a cup 
Crime Fam' livin' up this beat is excellent I feel it too much 
Fuck around somebody might get touched 
I'm bravehearted you get tackled on the fifty line yardage 
If you come against my whole team of starters mic murder slaughters 

[Lord] (Chorus) 
We grow grey in the same place 
Walk the same block, squeeze the same glock 
We gotta eat for niggas that don't sleep 
We hustlin' in sleep catch you permanent creeps 
We brake bread from fucking the same bitch 
We reppin' the same clique for that QB shit 
We mos' real my people is mos' ill 
Nigga take it how you feel get shot for real 

[Chaos] 
I tripped and fell many times but rose to my feet 
Fo-fo longs concealed in my no face sleeves 
To my life slip away one step from a grave 
And steady took away my youth for locked me in a bink 
Man, I was too young to understand what life means 
See y'all gon' understand a story of thug that like things 
Can't express the rush I get when busting Macs 
How adrenaline flows when the hammer kicks back 
I know it's more than life in the hood 
But I still spit stories of my past ways 
It's like a glass maze 
Six blocks caged in I was razed in 
The illest of fond, the realest in dunns 
QB to the death of me, I suerve and ride 
Till' my physical is stiff and my sould is on the other side 
Mo' money, mo' murder, mo' homicide 
Fuck wit' QB man you better have that allibi 

[Craig G.] 
I'm from a planet called QB where drama runs deep 
And gunshots wake you up out of your sleep like an alarm clock 
In '84 top ten that was a bomb spot 
Practiced playin' ball in the wrist I have a strong shot 
At 4 o'clock I'll rob you under the tressle 
Came from out of town actin' special 
That's why I see you fake leaders, and snake breaders 
Shit me and the Bravehearts go back like saint weeders 
Ball bustaz and brain beaters 
You ain't worth the coins in the change meter 
On every block and bridge we flame heaters 
Hollow points for you laying cheaters 
Waiting till' your main day needers 
Shit, Craig G. 
Naturally and tragically obligated to bust ass 
In the clutch like Kurt Warner throwin' touch pass 
Don't believe anything that you read inside them smut rags 
Half of these rappers sound like smoke twenty dust bags 
Probably did, you ain't holdin' the kid that'll bust back 
When drama is on I know for a fact so trust that 
I'm stuck in this life buck legged cap across the body 
Fuckin' his wife sharpin' his place stuck in his knife 
What's in the mic wires, mechanics and stuff 
But without the fire you really can't apply it too much 
I'ma let you find as such with my vocals I'll roast you 
No matter where you live this ain't bi-coastal 
Bring drama the most you heavy hitters down to the hopefulls 
Niggaz rullin' the charge and just broke through 
I ain't gonna approach you, that shit that you spit I been spittin' 
Back in 1989 when hip hop had no limits 
Twenty eight with no gimmicks, real is what this shit is 
Got nothin' to lose cuz' I'm a double life bidder 
In hip hop shoot the back of ya timbs turn 'em to flip flops 
Do a drive by with a horse so run when you hear the click clocks 
This shit rocks from Fresno to Fort Knocks 
This verse should be enough to make all of the torque stop 
No niggaz that four cops no niggaz that court shots 
Close fantasy your hypeman should be Mr. Raw Ock 

(Chorus)