Jeans & Sneakers

Black Rob

Jeans & Sneakers By Black Rob

It’s cold outside
Uh, uh, it’s cold outside
Bad boy, bad boy
Uh, yeah
It’s cold outside

What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?

Biggie Smalls, who you represent?
The Brooklyn clique
Where the boots is tied tight, and the jackets is thick

Represent them thugs
Not them shearling rugs
Leathers that fasten
Sean Combs be lasting
1x to 5x, so no need for lost weight
Affordable, way more cheaper than the North Face
Flavors in the bubble-goose, so let your trouble loose
So no-one be seeing them thugs that’s demeaning
The flavors in the city, it’s a pity
Them other damn jackets don’t fit me
They just plain itty bitty
Why can’t a big guy stay fly?
Listen up, Polo Grounds down to Bed-Stuy
Stay fly in that Brooklyn Mint
And here’s the main reason
Sitting in that jacket, man I know you be freezing
Flavors in the vest
Bulletproof on the chest
Keep the burner on the waist
And still dress to impress

What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?

Y’all should know this rap thing, I got it down to a size
Big goose underneath it, that’s the metal appliance
And if we don’t bust a cap on you so called gangsters
Don’t front, you a little bit scared now, ain’t ya?
Now this is ’05, it’s a brand new thing
‘Bout time the rap game crowned a brand new king
I been sitting here squadding on this Tidal belt
When I drive it, watch how my rivals felt
It’s the second coming of Black, so run and get your raps
And do a couple of dips, and run a few laps
I stay in first place with the style of a Lear
If you try to battle the kid you really gon’ need a
Whole crew, not 2 man, 3 or 4
You gon’ lead the whole posse, a masimore
Even then B, ain’t no chance for ya
You f**king round with the rap gargantuans
Bad Boy, man easy pimp
When I’m dishing out the pain nobody exempt
You was good ’til your scam uncovered
Who the man in fatigues with the blicky?
That’s the god, belove it
And he cold like a b*t*h’s heart
Yeah he cold and ridges hard
You don’t want beef? sh*t, don’t start, man
It’s B. Rob, I’m taking it back
D got Kim with the product, we cookin’ crack

What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?

Pop off ’till I’m hard and grey
I’mma even see Al Green get shot down like Marvin Gaye
No disrespect, pardon me
Lotta dudes got locked down but few had heart to stay
Puff couldn’t take Marph’s demay
Sit your five-dollar ass before I make change, stay in your lane
‘Cause only champs sip on pain
You the type to like Piña Coladas, and getting caught in the rain

Biggie Smalls, who you represent?
The Brooklyn clique
Where the boots is tied tight, and the jackets is thick

Represent them thugs
Not them shearling rugs
Leathers that fasten
Sean Combs be lasting
1x to 5x, so no need for lost weight
Affordable, way more cheaper than the North Face
Flavors in the bubble-goose, so let your trouble loose
So no-one be seeing them thugs that’s demeaning

What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?
What’s going on?
What ya throwin on?



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