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That mother****er kept sniffin for goods |
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Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left |
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And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away |
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Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre |
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Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup |
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Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up |
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(X-caliba) [echo] |
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[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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It all started when I twisted the lid of the Olde E |
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And see E-A-R-double-O-E... ... ... (??) |
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Where my mother****ering siccmade jacked at |
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Cuz that's the only one I could use |
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When I saw you at the war yeah when I lifted you out your shoes |
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It was the pressure from the twenty game (the twenty game) |
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Felt like it could split your chest whide open wit it |
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Well nigga you should when I'm round talkin that shit |
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Bout the nigga that's my kin-folks |
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Should knew the wheel while you was givin up that info... |
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...mation, I'll be of that Parry Mason |
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When I hit em all up, creep em all up, kill em all up, fill em all up |
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Real deal, dig a ditch give em hit a licc then take the grip |
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Put em in the back of the Cadillac show em how my Mini-Mac gonna act |
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My tactics is lethal |
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Leave the whole town hella smokey |
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Like that band that steppin over dead people |
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It's like that, and you wouldn't know it cuz I'ma cool ass mufucca |
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Then dump on a gang of succas |
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As I wait for the city to heat up like a Hot Pepper |
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Gotta whole load fulla Evian |
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And a trunck fulla FO take no's and I can't let go |
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Catch you at yo show slippin |
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Hoes trippin, rows rippin in the street after I heat my heat of |
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I'm of the hook with this siccmade shit, straight made nigga |
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**** it, pass me the straight lace liquor to the face nigga |
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Off the Thunder Burger and Kool-Aid and O 8 |
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Easy on the liver still make me kill a nigga |
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Split you head like a pineapple |
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Die natural! |
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Five at your dome send em home in a pinebox |
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Lift you out your sox |
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Pay attention to the Glock |
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Half pass a niggas ass where aimen at the grass take suitcase fulla cash and mash |
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16 in the clip crumble the urb roll a sliff bout to whatch you brain split in half |
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Bloody bath watter, infried nigga nuts and bones locaded at home I think him name is Tyrone |
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But you know... |
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[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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That mother****er kept sniffin for goods |
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Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left |
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And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away |
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Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre |
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Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup |
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Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up |
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(X-caliba) [echo] |
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[Verse 2: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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You can call me black Sadam Huseain |
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Pump St Idees through my wein ass nigga |
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You can see me on the southside of the street |
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Man remembered by the ((opposet)) nigga that flod the city |
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Get ready for some pretty if you sicc like Frank Nitty |
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Sucked blood from my momas tittie - instead of milk |
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Played murda muzicc in my tape deck - instead of Silkk |
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Enden up killen one of them mother****ers |
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So **** them hoes, they like Grim |
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Havin killin niggas like they gots to go |
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With the 380M - got high til seven |
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Jump in what you call it headin throughwards heaven, whit my |
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50 sacc of some shit, that'll make you get there |
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About 11:30 with your T-shirt dirty, |
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I'm worthy strapped like James as ventured in this faulty game |
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In a mainframe, that I bucked in ruff terrain, then hit the plane |
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15 guts on a tripple beam scale nigga |
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Acual contact from the strap that I hale nigga |
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[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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That mother****er kept sniffin for goods |
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Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left |
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And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away |
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Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre |
|
Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup |
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Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up |
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(X-caliba) [echo] |
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[Verse 3: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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They got this mother****er twisted up |
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And from the sound of the barrle I got hella mother****ers runnin up |
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What should I do about these ****in fleas? |
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Give em all A-1 and put they seeds in they weed |
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Figga a way out this nigga I know you got me in file |
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But I got you on scanner so plan anotha way (anotha way) |
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Told me it was (?Coda steady?) |
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But I catch you slippin like pimpin |
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And shake bankin like (?Trail Leonard?) |
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Hit your mind workin these swine |
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Tripp time get's deepa as you meat the Grim reapa |
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In the form of a man double M 24 5 got your brains leaking I'm peakin |
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That's why these nigga wanna rip keep me |
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I'm rollin squeeky and what you want call it |
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Witta .45 in my pocket and I'm a young alcoholic |
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Like P-Folks I had to make it happen |
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Sacramentos most wanted I gotta keep packin, cuz of that |
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My favorite cousin just go four years |
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And when his little brotha died he showed me no tears |
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Your point is you get deep as the ocean |
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Take a shiesty niggas blood and rub it on like lotion |
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It was like: once apon a time a long time ago |
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I was sticken 9 milis in a pussy hole |
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Get of the Ol 8 old Murda moe then i gotta go to a spot |
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When they don't know I'm the leath nigga given up my info |
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[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung] |
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That mother****er kept sniffin for goods |
|
Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left |
|
And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away |
|
Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre |
|
Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup |
|
Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up |
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(X-caliba) [echo] |
