Max B - Deez My Streets video free download

Max Bigaveli at his best

Million Dollar Baby Radio

Download: http://www.datpiff.com/Big_Mike_Max_B_Million_Dollar_Baby_Radio.m1998.htm

Lyrics: Hook:

Deez my streets, deez my corners

Fuckin' with Max B nigga, you's a goner

Bullets in yo' ass like heat from the sauna

Jeeps run up on ya

Beef with them heats and them jeeps that'll scorn ya

Mom through, pop through

Dress up, black suit, tend to wear condom on ya

Your wife, your friends, your kids condom on ya

Don't fuck with the boy, I tried to warn ya

Verse 1:

Where the fuck is my bread (Where it at nigga)

Mu'fucka, I'll bust yo' head (Bust ya shit)

Fill ya fuckin' ass up with lead

Heard through the grapevine, you working for the feds

(That's what I heard dog)

I'm 'bout to put Harlem on the map

Pop the trunk of the Jag and put your father in the back

We hoggin' in the back

You niggaz eat real good in the front row while niggaz starvin' in the back

We mobbin' in the back

Gun cocked, jewels off, robbin' in the back

Kill a white bitch while she joggin' in the back

Open up your mouth, come slob a nigga's sack, bitch

Max spit hard, the nigga rap

Sawed-off shotgun, revolve a nigga clap

All off hot one, dissolve a nigga fat

All off hot ones, resolve a nigga's ass

Yeah, talk to 'em nigga

Hook

Verse 2:

I gets high and abusive

Got a brand-new hammer and I'm dyin' to use it

We kill a nigga softly, get a nigga off me

Slap his tray on the floor and spill a nigga coffee

I got faith in this man, but will he ever cross me

Will he ever get up to gone and try to off me

I ain't waiting on this nigga to do me

I'ma do him like Nino did to G-Money in the movie

One in his head on the roof

The god blow back and kick bread on the stoop

Infrared on your shoot

Little small dots be resemblin' the circus

Dissembling your surface

I don't know which emblem to purchase

I'm a household name, a good friend of the Burton's

And all my lil' niggaz is deices

Strap 'em up with C-4s and send 'em in the precinct

Hook

Verse 3:

Niggaz saying Harlem ain't hot, don't get popped

Nigga our gun talk

Cop drops from cocaine rocks

Gun spark, Glock cocked, brought it from Bangkok

Turn your man into a Hulkamania tanktop (Damn)

I'm a fan on the low, I like dudes

Floss chain bigger like 60 ice cubes

I can't predict my future

But before I go back to the pen my bitch'll shoot ya

I don't mean to confuse ya

You got a good song, that don't mean you're the future (nope)

You got a good song, think you the bomb

Dogs out to fuse ya

Post up with the ball, back down and use ya

Post up with the.4, clap clowns, abuse 'em

Gat sounds amusing, smackdown, remove 'em

Nigga we'll lose ya (yeah)

Keep ya fresh, put your body with the brew in the cooler

Holla back, yes

Hook

Yeah, tried to warn you niggaz man

Now y'all gotta learn the hard way

Fuck it, 'bout to just take this shit all off

Y'all can't stop me nigga

Your Boss Don Biggaveli

You niggaz fall back

Gang Greene, Byrdgang bitch

Let's get this money

The game is all mines man

All mine