Act Brand New Lyrics

[Intro: Infinite (Dom Pachino)]
Yo, P. what's good (yeah, uh-huh)
What's going on family, where you been at (Try'nna get
my shit right, youknowhatimean?)
Where you going with this music thing, man, I know you
got some darts for the people
Talk to me, man, what's good, man (listen, yo)
[Dom Pachino]
From padiums to colisseums, boy, you should see 'em
No longer they try'nna g' 'em, they try'nna be 'em
Told a white lie, while Kryme flying in the BM
You got it good, kid, take a look, they dying when they
see 'em
Women be eyeing, here's diamonds, when they see 'em
He's shining, he's winning, he's rhyming and his vinyls
spinning
Did the underground thing, but I got to make a living
When you see 'em, don't hate, think you could of been
'em
That's some good shit, considering the shit I've been
through
Got a phone and that I can't attend to
Guess I'm busy, bitch slapping these tracks til they
busy
Aim for the sky, watch the king lie just like a frisbee
Don't forget battling is risky, that's why I keep the 5
to 50
In case ya nigga is shifty
[Chorus 2X: Infinite]
Why these phony niggas always try to act brand new
Word is bond, on our dick, when my Team come through
Aye, aye, them boys ain't built like you
Stack ya chips, f*ck a bitch, and respect that jewel
[Infinite]
I'll never stab you in the back or bullshit you
Never asked to do anything that I won't do
Give you my word, the fam is my gangsta's pledge
And if I go against the grain then I'm over the edge I've survived many times when them gats put on me

And survive my little time, you don't know me homey
But you still eyeing me, like you want some dick
Recognize who the f*ck it is you dealing with, prick
Inf' was raised around killas, muthaf*ck' stardom
Fifteen, copping from paper, up in Harlem
Low lifes busting they magnums in day light
You so hype, stuck on dramatics, from gay fights
Give a f*ck, you got toast, so pop ya triggers
Jail time is a privilege for some of my niggas
Society, bitches lie to me, got my son
If I get nervous, niggas better talk for they guns
Got balls, hustle anyone's block, dare to f*ck with me
The kid ain't yours, look at his face, you wish you run
from me
[Chorus 2X]
[Chapel]
Yo, I might flip out, word up, and go ballistic
Spitting rhymes, more hard than solid biscuits
I rip tracks, word up, and scrap a mistress
Pour an E&J, get myself twisted
Where ya name on the charts? You unlisted
I seen you forcing your hand from close distance
My whole style engage in persistence
I pulverize weak old cats, upon an instance
Rip cats apart in my existence
Metaphors beautiful, boy, I'm just vicious
Yo whole style is frail, you're ficticious
Your whole team is wack, ya'll like bitches
[Chorus 2X]
[Outro: Dom Pachino]
It's Napalm, kid, knowhatimean?
The f*cking Team... here it is...
Nahimean? I told ya'll niggas I was coming
With the muthaf*cking squadron, well here it is
Napalm World, nigga...

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