The Set Up

(album: It Was Written - 1996)

Uh (Yeah, yeah, yeah)
Q.B. since 1933 (No doubt)
To nine-six (Nine-six, motherfucker)
Check the shit

Nine-six, Escobar 600

Check the shit
My mind's set, son got wet, I'm vexed really
They snatched off his Rolex, smacked his bitch silly
Why niggas acting illy? Word to Will, he 'bout to feel it
I feel it, he shoulda been dealt with it
Them niggas sour, they put to much flour in they coke
And got the nerve to wonder why they broke
While we was gleaming, niggas was scheming
Seen the ill Bimmers beaming
Triple-beam and doubling cream had 'em fiending
To get they fingers on the dosa, I called Sosa
"Sosa, these niggas hit the God, bring the toaster
Meet me in the 'Bridge, I'm bout to go loca"
Left my rat begging me to stay and stroke her
He came through with two fly bitches, Venus and Vicious
With two MACs inside the Volvo
What up, God? I'm still sober
I need some Henn' to bend me over
My nigga Hav' gotta soldier
It's getting down, it's going down, kid (I got this, I got this)
I heard he might not live, I'm holding back tears
Told these broads to put it in gear
With two females that don't smile, digging they style, yo
What up, son? These niggas done started something wild
You know the clique well, Rhamel with the gold in his grill
Tried to get a name, holding the steel
I paid attention to the females
Maintained bitches when it get real
Sos' pulled me close and told me the deal
He said both hoes'll peel
Spray shots and reload and still handle the wheel
Point 'em out, smoke a Phil' then chill
I laid back, Escobar status
Knowing The Firm got it cornered, we on it
Shit we was born with

Spark the lye, Q.B.C. yo, it's do or die
In this, business of trifeness
I finesse this, Boyardee, we chef shit
Perfect shit, Albert Einstein minds connect wit'
Dangerous sons, step back, let the TEC lift
Lift you up, bless you with a shorty then we set you up
Spark the lye, Q.B.C. yo, it's do or die
In this, business of trifeness
We finesse this, Boyardee, we chef shit
Perfect shit, Albert Einstein minds connect wit'
Dangerous sons, step back, let the TEC lift
Lift you up, bless you with a shorty then we set you up

Hold it right there, pull over
That nigga right there inside the Rover
I knew he'd be right here, I told you
Let's get him now, look at him smile, ice Bulova
Polo pullover, big links and rocking boulders
He's stunting, after he left my man like that
Without a fair chance to fight back, but I'll be right back
He never seen us, Sos' gave the MAC to Venus
And Vicious, looking delicious, handle yo' business
And step to him, shake your ass, try to screw him
Do what ya gotta do to get to him
A tight Parasuco with young faces
Can turn niggas Buttafuoco of all ages
They was amused by the way they walked, way they talked
Only if they knew these girls had sprayed New York
If they had to, heard him ask Venus, "Could I have you?"
He jumped out a Jeep, heard her tell him "Don't grab, boo"
(What up, boo? What up? What up? What up?)
They started chatting, was only 'bout a minute, flat when
They jumped in the back of the Jeep laughing
We followed him pollying, he thought the hoes were Somalian
Probably when they hit the Holiday Inn
I grabbed the phone and called the Mobb and 'em
We laid low about a hour or so, these bitches moving too slow
We both holding, what if them wild hoes started foldin'?
Sosa said "Say no more", we started rolling
Before we got in, they must have shot him
Security wilding, there the girls go, hurry up, we out in
The 940, me, Sosa and two shorties
The punk niggas got murdered in the orgy

Spark the lye, Q.B.C. yo, it's do or die
In this, business of trifeness
I finesse this, Boyardee, we chef shit
Perfect shit, Albert Einstein minds connect wit'
Dangerous sons, step back, let the TEC lift
Lift you up, bless you with a shorty then we set you up

Q.B.C., Queensbridge, motherfucker
Roping niggas up
'Cause our clique is thick
Another day, another dollar
More money, more murder
Fuck this shit, Q.B. up in the house