Hold U Down - Cella Dwellas

U.G.'s mag-

-nificent like Morocco, used to rock flow

Got to blow so I can drive a Land Cruiser, choose a

Heavy rings and things that make society

Eye me and attract thugs that wanna try me

And stick me.

My clique be thick, see, like Gerry Cooney

More Gees than Spoonie, hands nice like Al Toon’s be

From the Jets.

Bets on dog races

Sex in four places.

Becks?

Drink four cases—what?!?

Peep the scientist.

Me and Phan' roll like

Power Man and Iron Fist, got shorties laying on

My couch like a psychiatrist, automatics pop

Like grease when you frying fish.

This ain’t no game, kid

I see more fame than ten niggas I knew

That blew.

Now it’s time for us to get cash too

Ted

DiBiase, The Million Dollar Emcee

Check the Realms ‘N Reality LP.

We murder niggas

Mentally.

Bet you, out of six rhymes, I’m four and better

The big pictures was a Jetta and some Lo sweaters

But that was years ago.

Now a nigga know

Emcees be living off this shit, and that’s for real though

Had dreams of being down with the Hit Squad

The Dwellas is forever, and now we’re the shit, god

If shorties hassle me, know a Butch named Cassidy

Call me the Sundance Kid, soon to blow and live

Full-court, breakaway rims, three G’s

And soundmen, single climbing, keep a nigga shining—true

Indeed.

My seed is the love of my life, my only

Son, no wife.

Get nice, shoot dice.

Me and

My man (Man) Silky Slim and Geechie Dan (Dan)

On the road to the riches, keep the fame and the bitches

Son, it’s like

Whatever.

(I got your back forever—don't sweat it)

And if you’re gonna set it, nigga, set it (‘cause I’ma hold)

(You down, nah’mean? No fronting).

Whether we

Be rapping or back-smacking something

I throw

Flows like Joe Theismann, wise like Three Wise Men

Pose like the Heisman in pictures, my scriptures be

Lethal Weapons, I bust like Mel Gibson

On screen, on-point like infrared beams

Dreams of hot tubs, owning yachts and clubs

With strippers, with «Tommy Hil'» printed on my slippers.

Baby

Bro, pesos folded in clips

Model ships up in bottles that be priceless, the mic gets

Smashed on my behalf, flash steel

On purpose.

Don’t front for me, kid.

It ain’t worth it to get

Blasted.

Dirty like the Bastard, heard a lot

Of trash shit on wax—some labels need to drop their acts (Word up)

‘Cause when it’s our turn to shine, you gon' see

A gold LP, so what you telling me, Phantasm?

The Dwellas already got fame in the game

One album to claim, putting crews to shame.

Just

Because you get a pound, don’t think you’re down

I know a lot of rap clowns all up in this town that

Smile in my face.

Behind my back, they talk trash

Made a little cash, but how long will you last?

Lon-

-gevity's the key to the real money

Rule 4080: industry’s shady

My true friends in the biz is U.G.

and

Nick Wiz and some crazy-ass Crooklyn kids.

Bottom line:

It’s time to get mines for tracks and rhymes

And generate papers like The New York Times

Son, it’s like

Whatever.

(I got your back forever—don't sweat it)

And if you’re gonna set it, nigga, set it (‘cause I’ma hold)

(You down, nah’mean? No fronting).

Whether it

Be rapping or back-smacking something