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Artist: Troy Ave
Album:  New York City
Song:   Classic Feel
Typed by: Gemini_20502K@Yahoo.com, kirenamloh@msn.com

[Intro]
Classic feel, rubber grip or the plastic feel

[Verse One]
This that, Brooklyn shit, this is not the norm
This that, safety off, with the engine on
Mercedes Benz good watch sittin above the awn
How he got money when he ain't have a job in so long?!
This that, hustler shit that independent grind
That Nautica sweatsuit and white ones go shine
Barbershop twice a week stay sharp and in shape
In the chair with the trigger hair under the cape
This that first hand shit, made bastards and widows
Not to rap about it but really seen it from my window
This that, fine line between jail and my coupes
My bedroom at my mama house smellin like coke
This that, gamblin spot stop banks shoot it back
Metro North with three birds in the backpack
Plenty trains on bitches no names or pictures
Kept it low so she bought more thangs to fuck with us
This that half off credit, shit we don't respect
Or we just dead 'em if they try to do sixty percent
This that, other forty the minority flow
Where all the acres held hearts and all the mules held blow
No pain no gain, I profit off 'caine
Give a fuck who we slain long as my team remain
This that, violatin you'll meet your death
This that, Vibe cover nigga east verse west

[Chorus]
Classic feel, rubber grip or the plastic feel
Classic feel, rubber grip or the plastic feel (Representer of the o's and the pistols!)
Nigga! It's that motherfuckin classic feel! Rubber grip or the plastic feel
BLAOW! (BSB Records!) Classic feel
And if you get it like me you could tell it's for real!

[Verse Two]
Now if he say I ain't hot, I probably fucked his girl
Or did violence to his homie, took 'em up out this world
Bruce Le-Troy, only nigga with that glow
BSB Records, nigga I'm the CEO
Most these other rap niggaz, they the CB4
MC Gustos, how the fuck you get my number and know
of the lines, cause momma love seen she proud of her kid
She used to call me like, "The cops here! Don't come to the crib!"
A +Bad Boy+, a more gangsta version of Sean
My city estate, and I ain't evein gettin my primes
Still gettin that cake... or Pillsbury snow
On the real, FUCK yo' opinion, I made it this far and you broke!
When I was lookin for guidance, spread the Bible apart
But Exodus 20:13 didn't do shit for my heart
So I, move in silence, all you hear is the spark
Seen the flash before he passed, what a light in the dark!
What a sight in the chalk, yeah that's DOA
I know I look like I'm ballin, but nigga me no play
I'm 'bout my +Frito-Lay+, bags of chips
So if you feelin this shit, baby rub on yo' tits
Ah-hah~!

[Chorus]
Classic feel, rubber grip or the plastic feel
Classic feel, rubber grip or the plastic feel (Representer of the o's and the pistols!)
Nigga! It's that motherfuckin classic feel! Rubber grip or the plastic feel
BLAOW! (BSB Records!) Classic feel
And if you get it like me you could tell it's for real!