Whitey Ford brings the devastatin' mic control
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Say roll to the rock, rock to the roll
I'm born in Hempstead, L.I., raised in California
Some get the powers, love, some get the papers
Some get the powers, love, some get the papers
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
If I can't bomb on you I'm bombin' on your man
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Mister entrepreneur, I rock the shot that's sure
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
It's time to make like Greg Nice, kid, and praise the Lord
Huntin' down crews like packs of bloodhounds
And kill your whole whack show like I'm Edgar Allan Poe
Commence to motivate, assume an altered state
I'm like an acid trip
I bank my selections on world wide connections
So get the seven digits, baby, never burn your bridges
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors
I once was lost, see, but now I'm found
I want the cash in hand and the beach front land
With a psychotic thriller
Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains
Better
Snatchin' off crowns and meltin' 'em down
And I'll get loco from Acapulco to Japan
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Amazing grace how sweet the sound
Smoke an eighth
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
No pecker wood's iller
Keep the faith
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
I need a dime plus more, I've sipped the fine liqueur
With legendary status like my name's Lou Brock
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains
Watch me rock these sounds from the Polo Grounds to the Sunset Strip
Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains
In my lands are sounds be shakin' the grounds
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
I'm Nestle Alpine White, classic rapper's delight
Better
Mister Whitey Ford gets terrain explored
Some get the powers, love, some get the papers
Than this freckle-faced man with the farmer's tan
And when the saints come marchin' in
Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains
You perpetrate that fraud you must be out your gourd
Like Darrell McDaniel, a hundred G's annual
Some get the shit, sugar, some get the stains
The tips get clocked, baby, the bonds get stocked
And some catch the vibes and some catch the vapors
You know it's Whitey and the Likwits
I'll flash it back on ya, run it up on ya
Better
My style gets rocked just like doors get knocked
Praise the Lord, keep the faith
All these shorties pullin' tools 'cause they know they can't fight
Continue stackin' papers all up in my safe
Some get the muscles, baby, some get the brains
