Young Boy - Clipse

You’re out of line!

Mmm, I’ll tell you what I’m talkin 'bout

You’re out of line!

When I was a young boy

You’re out of line!

My momma always told me don’t take no shit

You’re out of line!

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back

You’re out of line!

So when I hit the nigga, it go «blam!», uh

(You're out of line!) A nigga out of line, uh

Back when I was 'bout Big Wheels and race tracks

Pops pushed a Tornado and rolled to eight tracks

Never stood a chance, exposed from way back

Lying to the baby, saying its Ajax

I was 'bout four when I walked past that door

That shoulda been closed where I first witnessed the raw

See in my household it was quite unique

Playing hide and seek you might find a key

Caught glimpse accidental, it branded my mental

Pals my role model in that Lincoln Continental

Bought all my friends Icees, it was 'bout six

And when he pulled off I was like, «See told ya we was rich.»

How I turned out, let it be no surprise

When they speak of cousin Ricky it brings tears to their eyes

See, my family got a history of hustlers

Lil' brother, big brother, mother to grandmother

It’s tradition

Mmm, I’ll tell you what I’m talkin 'bout

You’re out of line!

When I was a young boy

You’re out of line!

My momma always told me don’t take no shit

You’re out of line!

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back

You’re out of line!

So when I hit the nigga, it go «blam!», uh

(You're out of line!) A nigga out of line, I said

(You're out of line!) Motherfuckers out of line

My momma didn’t see it coming, my daddy was there

What’s my excuse?

Cartoons were the root

Started with Yosemite Sam with the gun in

Palm of each hand, what couldn’t I demand?

See, thirteen, studied the gangsta’s lean

Low brim, no smile, lot of cash, meanwhile

Daddy had the Chrysler Fifth Avey

Hustlers on the blocks cars were aero-dynamie

With ghetto paint jobs, Mango M3s

Seventeen inch BBs riding tough

The bike was Huffy, attention was froze

In a twenty-five cent frozen cup laid my soul

The streets had made the mold

Since fourteen holding, Pusha T was chosen

Rebel like Che Guevara

RC Tyco versus Carrera, it’s P

Mmm, I’ll tell you what I’m talkin 'bout

You’re out of line!

When I was a young boy

You’re out of line!

My momma always told me don’t take no shit

You’re out of line!

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back

You’re out of line!

So when I hit the nigga, it go «blam!», uh

(You're out of line!) A nigga out of line, I said

(You're out of line!) Motherfuckers outta line

I think of grandma and the weight she would foot 'em

She kinda remind me of Madame Queen in «Hoodlum»

Sport the grandkids, each one she would treasure

Said she kept two guns and to do so was a pleasure

The cigarette dangle forty-five degree angle

Still every bit a lady but you don’t wanna tangle

Let that explain me and how I got involved

Young’ns hustling in the Creek, me, Jon-Jon and Jamal

Age fifteen, walking through the hallway

Plate the new Jordans, first ones on the scene

See I could afford 'em, living out a dream

Hustler on the rise, laces untied

Slid past young’ns, couldn’t break my stride

Didn’t know I was knotted in street ties

Teachers askin' how and why

Bitches passing by, «Oh my, he’s so gangsta»

Mmm, I’ll tell you what I’m talkin 'bout

You’re out of line!

When I was a young boy

You’re out of line!

My momma always told me don’t take no shit

You’re out of line!

Motherfucker hit you then you better hit 'em back

You’re out of line!

So when I hit the nigga, it go «blam!», uh

(You're out of line!) A nigga out of line, I said

(You're out of line!) I said, you niggas out of line

Mmm, I’ll tell you what I’m talkin 'bout

You’re out of line!