The Diplomats – I Really Mean It

[Intro: Jim Jones]
You see man
Let’s get off of that lame man
Let’s get into what we like to do man
This what we do preferably man
We bring that powerful music to your table man
Killa, let ’em know something
[Verse 1: Cam’ron]
Young Guru, Just Blaze, Killa, Diplomats, huh
Juelz Santana, Jim Jones, Freekey Zekey
Hoffa, Dash, huh, Killa, huh

Ya’ll niggas dreamed it, I have seen it
Body warm, heart anemic (I really mean it)
Coke, a nigga steamed it, fiends I leaned ’em
Beemer leaned it (I really mean it)
Guns, really beaming, rarely miss, what’s really good?
Bikes, wheelie and creamin’ (I really mean it)
I’m a genius, Papadapolis, never lenient
On your Zenith (I really mean it)
Killa, bag me more mutts, they actually all ducks
Caddy more trucks, it’s Daddy Warbucks
And you Orphan Annie
Ma, take off your panties
Seat soft and sandy (I really mean it)
Yeah, let’s get lost in candy
I got lofts in Boston, Austin, flossin’ of course Miami
Reno, Nevada. Sip pino colada
Mama I’ve seen all the Prada (I really mean it)
I rock Mauri, Phoenix
Road to Glory. Seen it, you seen it (I really mean it)
The game: abuse it. It’s pain in music
But this year, wrist wear remains the bluest
I get lame and lose it. Beef? Came to do it
Aim and shoot it, flames turn ya brains the fluid
Ya’ll just kids, see what I just did, take a couple bars off
Let Just live

[Jim Jones]
Yeah, now that’s powerful music man
You need to pop something and roll something (I really mean it)
Killa we did it man, I got your back forever, Dip Set (I really mean it)
And them lames, we pop them sideways and drag them faggots (I really mean it)

[Verse 2: Cam’ron]
Ok, we back in
Mami listen (I really mean it)
Hey yo lock my garage, rock my massage
Fuck it, bucket by Osh Kosh B’gosh
Golly I’m gully, look at his galoshes
Gucci, gold, platinum plaque collages
From collabos, ghost writin’ for assholes
Wanna use my brain, then give Killa mad dough
It’s all good, increase Killa cash flow
Increase my fame, that’s why Killa smash hoes
You’ll get side swiped, look at my life
First movie ever, murked out Mekhi Phife’
And papi got jerked out of pies twice
Dip Set, we working with five dice
Cee-lo and craps, c-notes and stacks
I send bodies with "read this note" attached
Ya youngin’ fucked with boys in the hood
Gave her a son like Ricky, from ‘Boyz in the Hood’
On the couch bloody, old lady sighing
Wifey screaming (I really mean it)
Pissy little baby crying
Fucked up man, shit. There you seen it (I really mean it)
Fam man, you terry cloth, that mean you very soft
Gravy Mercedes, add the cranberry sauce

[Jim Jones]
Yeah, gangstas ride man, Flex we got you, guns up (I really mean it)
And all my ladies man, the ghettos a diddy, I need you, I want you
(I really mean it)
Oh, pop something, roll something, get twisted, that’s on Jim nigga
(I really mean it)
Harlem! Man we here to stay, it’s nothing left to say man
(I really mean it)
Eastside! And as for that lame man, Nasir
I ain’t even gon’ say your last name ’cause that’s mine
I catch you, you know what it is, you faggot!
I ain’t gon’ get too hyped over you man, we gone bury you
See if you bout it, bout it
Cause we is (I really mean it)