Masters Of Illusion - We All Over Lyrics

[Keith] kept in time at jail, robbery for six years
[M.Man] you missed out on hella money, food, weed and beer
[Keith] called home, stupid jacky never answer the phone
[Keith] what you been doin'
[M.Man] trying to concentrate on come-ups

[Chorus]
[M.Man] we all over
[Keith] takin' over
[M.Man] mic controller
[Keith] high rollers
[M.Man] north, east, south, west coast
[Keith] throwin' bombs at you
[x3]

[Motion Man]
I threw the gat in the bac of his 'ac
I wore gloves so my fingers wouldn't make contact
it's either that or do time for this ? snatch
f' that! partner take the rapper watch yo back
and he's back, who's that, cadillac all black yo that's my folks
young motion getting out with his yolks
changing channels ? switching up to sopranos when they see us
got'em caught up in a corner like fetus
pop the trunk get yo stuff out switch the cars and move fast
make 'em walk the plank the pirate's out here holding his shank
you don't understand the time that you're doing for me
just incase in clifton santiago out here for free
whoa don't tell your partner we got to get it together
no more domestic import people stuck out there in customs
I don't trust a motha' bout as far as I can chuck 'em
his bodyguard looks familiar, I'm recognizing the scar
officers got us at gunpoint, they searchin' the car
two chinese men trying to launder 'bout 500 grand
they homosexuals, I leave the male pimp in the stand
united states government officials look for the man
santiago's got his pictures up in the post office
'cuz santiago is a ?
last seen selling hash north, east, south west coast

[Chorus x4]

[Kool Keith]
I went to ralph's bought me chicken, my girl some spam
drove in the block with a green fleetwood broham
gold dayton rims with the diamonds on the edge and trims
trunk full of heroine checkin' out the merroine
two shotguns, grenades, rockets stashed under the seat
l.a.p.d. took my license, but can't see me
tinted windows, big powder, here's for your nose
straight from miami, columbian, puerto rico
immigrant right hand man nicknamed chico
jamaican posse at the house drinkin' carlo's ?rossi?
carbine 41 shot banana clip machine gun
duffel bags, work my cuban west indian shirt
callin' the feds up with private numbers tryin' to network
official numbers in the stash glove compartment
countin' bricks with incense in an empty apartment
up on the fourth floor with lactose mixin' raw
answer the door, stand behind it with a 44
some sucka named rell, kid rung the wrong bell
shut up iesha! this girl tryin to blow my spot
I gotta babysit I'm chillin' yo the block is hot
transfer my ammo, throw techs in a hefty bag
hit the street, I talk of sales when I meet

[Chorus x4]