| His name is Pablo, he snowed like an eskimo
|
| Even could smuggle it through Mexico, the best of 'dro
|
| That grow good enough to make him extra dough
|
| In my ghetto we know him as White Diablo
|
| Smoke coke off a passport, a lot of love in New York
|
| Got crooked cops even callin him boss
|
| Four lawyers paid off for some chicks that transport
|
| In a Jansport, still, it ain’t cut ya hands off
|
| In the ward or the section where they drop the grams off
|
| Too tired, his fears was the best throw off
|
| Tipped the doorman a grand without touchin his hand
|
| Tell him «Stand there and signal if there’s federal vans»
|
| In a penthouse with twenty ki’s under the couch
|
| A mastermind to the kitty game with cat and mouse
|
| Six o' clock gon' be a door knock
|
| Check the money in the suitcase and make sure you load up the Glocks
|
| Eight o’clock you gon' flee the scene, downstairs is a limosine
|
| That chauffer is part of the team
|
| Bring my CREAM through La Guardia, fuck the monitor
|
| I got men in that security room shinin my shoes
|
| When ya ass get off that plane I’m in the baggage claim
|
| With a sign of ya last name holdin a cane
|
| Hurry up and bring my money, I ain’t playin no games
|
| We on our way to hit the stockin exchange, yea
|
| I’m 'bout Yen, Pounds, Euros and Pesos
|
| Ain’t no catchin no bodies until I say so
|
| If I ain’t baggin up 'dro, givin out halos
|
| I’m on that overtime grind, makin my bankroll
|
| Yen, Pounds, Euros and Pesos
|
| Ain’t no catchin no bodies until I say so
|
| If I ain’t baggin up 'dro, givin out halos
|
| I’m on that overtime grind, makin my bankroll
|
| Yen, Pounds, Euros and Pesos
|
| Yo God, what’s good man?
|
| Where you at, man?
|
| I’m on 3, I got the Barry White album with me
|
| The Al Green album with me
|
| Man, it’s kinda leary out here
|
| Hurry up!
|
| Meanwhile, a Wayne Metro, fillin Petro in a 745
|
| Lookin for the purple bag with the Devil’s emblem
|
| Blendin employee style, transfer the pounds
|
| Roll weed in my passport, slip past four hounds
|
| Look the other way, too many murders in town
|
| From the skyview we rain rocks Larry Chambers style
|
| Twenty birds with four corrupt lawyers in their pocket
|
| Walk with a gat but ki in each of their vaginas
|
| Sheets spread on the plane to remain anonymous
|
| Took ten cabs to the Historia from La Guardia
|
| Told the doorman «Lookout for unmarked vans»
|
| Notifed this bust nearby, his day was goin grand
|
| Now I’m in, disect the couch in the pit house
|
| Twenty ki’s, no trouble please and shots ring out
|
| Six o' clock, you not, still sniffin his brains out
|
| Pablo main route, come up short, pencil ya frame out
|
| Two hours to do a handcount, please sit still
|
| Load the flocks into the Glocks, it’s mornin so just chill
|
| Everything routine, eight P.M. |
| to the limosine
|
| A chaffeur with no words, he knows the novel scheme
|
| Bring the CREAM through the detection machine
|
| We insured on the other side of the lens, our luggage is clean
|
| Send one of my doves out to the baggage claim
|
| Look for the Sun of Man, young face with Dragon and King
|
| Hurry up, bring the money up or we’ll garnish ya wage
|
| We tryin to get out to the stockin exchange
|
| Escobar’s criminal history surfaces in the Colombian press
|
| His fall from grace is swift
|
| His uncle is banished from the political scene
|
| And many of his assets are seized |