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!