Can't Fade Me Lyrics
| Song | Can't Fade Me |
| Artist | Cassidy |
| Album | I'm A Hustla |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| Vocal：Cassidy/Nas/Quan | |
| Yea, hehe. Don Quan | |
| A vision of God's Son Nas. That nigga Cass rules. Whattup baby | |
| [Chorus: Quan] | |
| Y'all niggaz is crazy. (To think) Y'all niggaz can't fade me | |
| (Trick these) From the bottom to the top, from the booth to the block | |
| Anyway I got to get it, I'm givin it all I got | |
| Y'all haters can't hold me. (No Way) And y'all don't want to zone me | |
| (Want it your way) So when I get, I'm gon' get it, in my life how I live it | |
| and whips I be whippin, smokin on the exquisite | |
| [Nas] | |
| In the crib, two bricks of coke, liquor and dope | |
| Pretty Hawaian bitches who eat choch and deep throat | |
| Same niggaz that get down, remember them | |
| California style, yeah I went back again | |
| But much wiser, 'cause these guys are | |
| Leave you up shits creek and won't lose sleep | |
| So while we pack the heat, I got the heckler and koch | |
| My man got the dot, five-oh block | |
| It's like the movies shots as niggaz watch | |
| But the American version | |
| East coast, west coast as we connect these curtains | |
| 'Cause we ain't scared to buck, step on the Timbs and Chuck's | |
| Is gonna happen, gun clappin, remember that | |
| Now we on the soothern part of the map | |
| Houston, party of the year, everybody there | |
| Texas, no guestlist, only real players allowed | |
| Me and my dudes make out rounds *Yall must be crazy* | |
| [Chorus: Quan] | |
| [Quan] | |
| VA game spittin, platinum grill grinnin | |
| Chrome rims spinnin, with wood grain glistenin | |
| Any amount we sippin, passion for thugs livin | |
| Free, fresh and out of prison | |
| Flexin that new edition | |
| Good grain gettin, shit and lovin the feelin | |
| Bobby Womack singin, Marisa Rings gleaming | |
| Hat cocked duce, puffin the quarter loosely | |
| Poppin the bottle and tippin fifth of that to goosey | |
| Shinnin for Swill and Halle, smokin for Lil' Shawney | |
| Still reppin Bad Newz, and all my soldiers for me | |
| Enjoy some better days, dispute burdens I carry | |
| See cousin hookin money, for God momentary | |
| Floss every chance I get, spread love freely | |
| Still spittin gangsta shit, 'cause the streets need me | |
| Still got that mack with me, for niggaz actin silly | |
| still pimpin gangsta pretty, reppin in every city | |
| [Chorus: Quan] | |
| [Cassidy] | |
| Yeah, I pray every day for a better life | |
| I think it's gon' get better but it's like I'm never right | |
| Make about it Christ, I'm on both of my knees | |
| There's no hope, that why I'm smokin the trees | |
| Damn, all for the chees, I lost both of my mans | |
| That's why this toast is in the both of my hands | |
| Damn, and I'll sell coke and birds 'fore I go to work | |
| I go to the Range more than I go to church | |
| My whole mentality twisted, but this reality isn't it | |
| I ain't tryin to be fatality listed | |
| And yo reverend, gettin dough is like goin to heaven | |
| And goin to jail, like goin to hell | |
| But before I go in the grave, I'll go in the cell | |
| Just send my son mo' dough in the mail | |
| Oh well, but I got god on my side so I'm beatin the case | |
| This life crazy but I'm keepin the faith |
| Vocal: Cassidy Nas Quan | |
| Yea, hehe. Don Quan | |
| A vision of God' s Son Nas. That nigga Cass rules. Whattup baby | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Y' all niggaz is crazy. To think Y' all niggaz can' t fade me | |
| Trick these From the bottom to the top, from the booth to the block | |
| Anyway I got to get it, I' m givin it all I got | |
| Y' all haters can' t hold me. No Way And y' all don' t want to zone me | |
| Want it your way So when I get, I' m gon' get it, in my life how I live it | |
| and whips I be whippin, smokin on the exquisite | |
| Nas | |
| In the crib, two bricks of coke, liquor and dope | |
| Pretty Hawaian bitches who eat choch and deep throat | |
| Same niggaz that get down, remember them | |
| California style, yeah I went back again | |
| But much wiser, ' cause these guys are | |
| Leave you up shits creek and won' t lose sleep | |
| So while we pack the heat, I got the heckler and koch | |
| My man got the dot, fiveoh block | |
| It' s like the movies shots as niggaz watch | |
| But the American version | |
| East coast, west coast as we connect these curtains | |
| ' Cause we ain' t scared to buck, step on the Timbs and Chuck' s | |
| Is gonna happen, gun clappin, remember that | |
| Now we on the soothern part of the map | |
| Houston, party of the year, everybody there | |
| Texas, no guestlist, only real players allowed | |
| Me and my dudes make out rounds Yall must be crazy | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Quan | |
| VA game spittin, platinum grill grinnin | |
| Chrome rims spinnin, with wood grain glistenin | |
| Any amount we sippin, passion for thugs livin | |
| Free, fresh and out of prison | |
| Flexin that new edition | |
| Good grain gettin, shit and lovin the feelin | |
| Bobby Womack singin, Marisa Rings gleaming | |
| Hat cocked duce, puffin the quarter loosely | |
| Poppin the bottle and tippin fifth of that to goosey | |
| Shinnin for Swill and Halle, smokin for Lil' Shawney | |
| Still reppin Bad Newz, and all my soldiers for me | |
| Enjoy some better days, dispute burdens I carry | |
| See cousin hookin money, for God momentary | |
| Floss every chance I get, spread love freely | |
| Still spittin gangsta shit, ' cause the streets need me | |
| Still got that mack with me, for niggaz actin silly | |
| still pimpin gangsta pretty, reppin in every city | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Cassidy | |
| Yeah, I pray every day for a better life | |
| I think it' s gon' get better but it' s like I' m never right | |
| Make about it Christ, I' m on both of my knees | |
| There' s no hope, that why I' m smokin the trees | |
| Damn, all for the chees, I lost both of my mans | |
| That' s why this toast is in the both of my hands | |
| Damn, and I' ll sell coke and birds ' fore I go to work | |
| I go to the Range more than I go to church | |
| My whole mentality twisted, but this reality isn' t it | |
| I ain' t tryin to be fatality listed | |
| And yo reverend, gettin dough is like goin to heaven | |
| And goin to jail, like goin to hell | |
| But before I go in the grave, I' ll go in the cell | |
| Just send my son mo' dough in the mail | |
| Oh well, but I got god on my side so I' m beatin the case | |
| This life crazy but I' m keepin the faith |
| Vocal: Cassidy Nas Quan | |
| Yea, hehe. Don Quan | |
| A vision of God' s Son Nas. That nigga Cass rules. Whattup baby | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Y' all niggaz is crazy. To think Y' all niggaz can' t fade me | |
| Trick these From the bottom to the top, from the booth to the block | |
| Anyway I got to get it, I' m givin it all I got | |
| Y' all haters can' t hold me. No Way And y' all don' t want to zone me | |
| Want it your way So when I get, I' m gon' get it, in my life how I live it | |
| and whips I be whippin, smokin on the exquisite | |
| Nas | |
| In the crib, two bricks of coke, liquor and dope | |
| Pretty Hawaian bitches who eat choch and deep throat | |
| Same niggaz that get down, remember them | |
| California style, yeah I went back again | |
| But much wiser, ' cause these guys are | |
| Leave you up shits creek and won' t lose sleep | |
| So while we pack the heat, I got the heckler and koch | |
| My man got the dot, fiveoh block | |
| It' s like the movies shots as niggaz watch | |
| But the American version | |
| East coast, west coast as we connect these curtains | |
| ' Cause we ain' t scared to buck, step on the Timbs and Chuck' s | |
| Is gonna happen, gun clappin, remember that | |
| Now we on the soothern part of the map | |
| Houston, party of the year, everybody there | |
| Texas, no guestlist, only real players allowed | |
| Me and my dudes make out rounds Yall must be crazy | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Quan | |
| VA game spittin, platinum grill grinnin | |
| Chrome rims spinnin, with wood grain glistenin | |
| Any amount we sippin, passion for thugs livin | |
| Free, fresh and out of prison | |
| Flexin that new edition | |
| Good grain gettin, shit and lovin the feelin | |
| Bobby Womack singin, Marisa Rings gleaming | |
| Hat cocked duce, puffin the quarter loosely | |
| Poppin the bottle and tippin fifth of that to goosey | |
| Shinnin for Swill and Halle, smokin for Lil' Shawney | |
| Still reppin Bad Newz, and all my soldiers for me | |
| Enjoy some better days, dispute burdens I carry | |
| See cousin hookin money, for God momentary | |
| Floss every chance I get, spread love freely | |
| Still spittin gangsta shit, ' cause the streets need me | |
| Still got that mack with me, for niggaz actin silly | |
| still pimpin gangsta pretty, reppin in every city | |
| Chorus: Quan | |
| Cassidy | |
| Yeah, I pray every day for a better life | |
| I think it' s gon' get better but it' s like I' m never right | |
| Make about it Christ, I' m on both of my knees | |
| There' s no hope, that why I' m smokin the trees | |
| Damn, all for the chees, I lost both of my mans | |
| That' s why this toast is in the both of my hands | |
| Damn, and I' ll sell coke and birds ' fore I go to work | |
| I go to the Range more than I go to church | |
| My whole mentality twisted, but this reality isn' t it | |
| I ain' t tryin to be fatality listed | |
| And yo reverend, gettin dough is like goin to heaven | |
| And goin to jail, like goin to hell | |
| But before I go in the grave, I' ll go in the cell | |
| Just send my son mo' dough in the mail | |
| Oh well, but I got god on my side so I' m beatin the case | |
| This life crazy but I' m keepin the faith |
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