Reachin' for Fame Lyrics
| Song | Reachin' for Fame |
| Artist | Brotha Lynch Hung |
| Album | Lynch By Inch, Suicide Note |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
| Yeh, yeh.. | |
| Back at that ass once again | |
| Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town | |
| Ya know what | |
| I'm sayin' | |
| I'ma tell 'em what | |
| I know Know what | |
| I know [Brotha Lynch Hung] | |
| Word on the streets is don't quit ya day job | |
| I own spots while you won't even get to own a spot | |
| I'm unconcious sippin' on that sugary | |
| Saint I-des | |
| Your raps need that | |
| Midas touch while mines rhymes | |
| It's suicide ****in' wit me, believe it | |
| I'll tuck the fifty cal now cause some niggaz tried to get me | |
| Split me in half like a joint bitch, | |
| I had it crackin' | |
| Slugs went flyin' through ya window, nigga | |
| I'm the captain | |
| You just rappin' to get by, might have to get to wrapped in a 6-5 | |
| Might have to get that truckin' and get locked | |
| Nigga you taste good like sour cream and chives over potatoes | |
| I'm a tornado, you just a puddle | |
| A poodle talkin' shit 'bout to get one put in ya noodle | |
| Biotch ya got the nuts to be attackin' back at me | |
| My chap I'm strapped have the fifty pound metal in the back seat | |
| And it's all legal, got me dumpin' at ya | |
| Regal wid the do dirty | |
| Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me | |
| Every bitch | |
| I got I got the key to the spot | |
| Better hide yo bitch before | |
| I get the key to your spot | |
| Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock | |
| Put one right in ya head ya whole cake | |
| You ain't even gon' play my shit rock up just like cocaine | |
| You a no name | |
| I'm preachin' you still reachin' for fame [Tall Cann] | |
| Same old shit but a different day | |
| Back at these niggaz like boomerangs | |
| Nigga wanna come around and do my thang | |
| Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues | |
| Call the paramedics to get you | |
| Not ****in' wid me in this lifetime | |
| Not thinkin' in my right mind | |
| Like Mike | |
| Tyson when it's my time | |
| Got these niggaz hollerin' woof | |
| Baby you ain't hard as hundred proof | |
| My fellow you just a nigga that won't fit in a puddle | |
| Piece a shit, nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin' | |
| Dip on 21st street ridin' there won't be a survivor | |
| Yo ass ain't no | |
| McGuyver you done say the wrong thangs | |
| The method that | |
| I got to give 'em bustin' out some teeth to say the less | |
| You can save the rest for later | |
| I mean I'm way to major like | |
| E-major nigga | |
| You claimin' my game but you ain't nothin' but a hater | |
| So when I pull out my tool scram | |
| Ya riddled drain eggs and ham you in the fryin' pan | |
| The way I reach out and snap a nigga like a rubber band | |
| Oh no there goes another man tryna **** wid the | |
| Siccmade fam | |
| Uh, Uh again?, | |
| God damn [CO] | |
| These niggaz talk alot of shit but don't really know about | |
| C-O That sneaky mother****a hit ya ass like ya | |
| P-O When ya least expect it with the cold | |
| Smith and | |
| Wesson Have my bitch, set you up at the telly get you undressin' | |
| Then it's lights camera action my pistol's blastin' | |
| Ya night went from cashin' to missin' fractions | |
| But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready | |
| Instead of doin' all that yappin' shoulda copped you somethin' heavy | |
| We deadly, like rattlesnake bites y'all the taddlin' type | |
| Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life | |
| So instead of worryin' about ours you need to see | |
| What's the matter wit ya life? | |
| What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get it right? | |
| What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get a life? | |
| Then spark it up this hitter does so ya can't get no ice | |
| So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid, niggaz like us | |
| Beause we move shit like drugs where y'all stayin' and cus | |
| And talk about the same shit all day | |
| And us we on the next page and after that the next page | |
| So try again the next day if you can't fade us today | |
| Practice makes perfect lil' guy stay in ya place [Brotha Lynch] | |
| I'm a Southside rider, funk provider | |
| Leave you in the trunk tied up, punk ya lied to us | |
| Just to tryna glock wid us get a piece of the pie wid us | |
| We too O-G, | |
| I don't **** wid them mics cuz | |
| I'm diggy down it will take plots to get me now | |
| And I got the fifty thou, wanna bet ya not get me pow | |
| I'm the threat starter fire starter put a hole in ya | |
| Starter And you couldn't find me cause it's time for departure | |
| Tryna get ya | |
| CD's out, | |
| I know it start ya | |
| Blame it on me | |
| I got heat, | |
| I leave ya scortched up | |
| I'm on the porch and nuttin' up, | |
| Southside, keep locked | |
| Where the | |
| G's knock niggaz out for ****in' up, we tuck 'em up | |
| Me and C-O and | |
| Tall Cann you can't **** wid us | |
| We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin' up we got pumps and stuff | |
| All up in the trunk and stuff we be waitin' for attack | |
| Get me sprayin' on ya pack and now you layin' on ya back | |
| You ain't payin' all ya rap taxes institute of malpractice | |
| I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic | |
| Patty mealed ass nigga put ya raps in the thrashbin | |
| Ya clashin' wid the | |
| Burbank titan fasten ya seatbelts | |
| I'm bout to make ya meat melt | |
| That beer breath spittin' meat chunks at ya wig punk | |
| I fear less rather hear less, you niggaz is tryna pay less | |
| I make ya days less trippin' on the famous tryna get famous | |
| Nigga please [Tall Cann] | |
| Ain't nobody ****in' wit me, this side of the city | |
| Northside gangsta ride turn you liars to sissies | |
| You ain't bangin' shit so miss me wid ya bullshit comment | |
| You know me, | |
| I worship drama that was a curse from my momma | |
| So if you wanna bring it here boy | |
| Northgate in | |
| El camino | |
| I'm right here boy | |
| All day long all night strong we be runnin' the | |
| North And | |
| I can have niggaz from your hood, run on ya porch | |
| Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts | |
| We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up | |
| After ya spirit raise up you still think you can rap you need to give them days up | |
| It's gonna cost you ya cap takin' cheap shots at us | |
| So cuz toss me the strap and put these streets on hush | |
| Because they full of wack niggaz and they speak too much | |
| And now we can't have that because we | |
| G too much | |
| So I'ma end it on this fact nigga'll bleed too much | |
| Ya keep talkin' |
| zuo ci : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
| Yeh, yeh.. | |
| Back at that ass once again | |
| Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town | |
| Ya know what | |
| I' m sayin' | |
| I' ma tell ' em what | |
| I know Know what | |
| I know Brotha Lynch Hung | |
| Word on the streets is don' t quit ya day job | |
| I own spots while you won' t even get to own a spot | |
| I' m unconcious sippin' on that sugary | |
| Saint Ides | |
| Your raps need that | |
| Midas touch while mines rhymes | |
| It' s suicide in' wit me, believe it | |
| I' ll tuck the fifty cal now cause some niggaz tried to get me | |
| Split me in half like a joint bitch, | |
| I had it crackin' | |
| Slugs went flyin' through ya window, nigga | |
| I' m the captain | |
| You just rappin' to get by, might have to get to wrapped in a 65 | |
| Might have to get that truckin' and get locked | |
| Nigga you taste good like sour cream and chives over potatoes | |
| I' m a tornado, you just a puddle | |
| A poodle talkin' shit ' bout to get one put in ya noodle | |
| Biotch ya got the nuts to be attackin' back at me | |
| My chap I' m strapped have the fifty pound metal in the back seat | |
| And it' s all legal, got me dumpin' at ya | |
| Regal wid the do dirty | |
| Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me | |
| Every bitch | |
| I got I got the key to the spot | |
| Better hide yo bitch before | |
| I get the key to your spot | |
| Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock | |
| Put one right in ya head ya whole cake | |
| You ain' t even gon' play my shit rock up just like cocaine | |
| You a no name | |
| I' m preachin' you still reachin' for fame Tall Cann | |
| Same old shit but a different day | |
| Back at these niggaz like boomerangs | |
| Nigga wanna come around and do my thang | |
| Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues | |
| Call the paramedics to get you | |
| Not in' wid me in this lifetime | |
| Not thinkin' in my right mind | |
| Like Mike | |
| Tyson when it' s my time | |
| Got these niggaz hollerin' woof | |
| Baby you ain' t hard as hundred proof | |
| My fellow you just a nigga that won' t fit in a puddle | |
| Piece a shit, nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin' | |
| Dip on 21st street ridin' there won' t be a survivor | |
| Yo ass ain' t no | |
| McGuyver you done say the wrong thangs | |
| The method that | |
| I got to give ' em bustin' out some teeth to say the less | |
| You can save the rest for later | |
| I mean I' m way to major like | |
| Emajor nigga | |
| You claimin' my game but you ain' t nothin' but a hater | |
| So when I pull out my tool scram | |
| Ya riddled drain eggs and ham you in the fryin' pan | |
| The way I reach out and snap a nigga like a rubber band | |
| Oh no there goes another man tryna wid the | |
| Siccmade fam | |
| Uh, Uh again?, | |
| God damn CO | |
| These niggaz talk alot of shit but don' t really know about | |
| CO That sneaky mother a hit ya ass like ya | |
| PO When ya least expect it with the cold | |
| Smith and | |
| Wesson Have my bitch, set you up at the telly get you undressin' | |
| Then it' s lights camera action my pistol' s blastin' | |
| Ya night went from cashin' to missin' fractions | |
| But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready | |
| Instead of doin' all that yappin' shoulda copped you somethin' heavy | |
| We deadly, like rattlesnake bites y' all the taddlin' type | |
| Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life | |
| So instead of worryin' about ours you need to see | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life? | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life boy, ya can' t get it right? | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life boy, ya can' t get a life? | |
| Then spark it up this hitter does so ya can' t get no ice | |
| So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid, niggaz like us | |
| Beause we move shit like drugs where y' all stayin' and cus | |
| And talk about the same shit all day | |
| And us we on the next page and after that the next page | |
| So try again the next day if you can' t fade us today | |
| Practice makes perfect lil' guy stay in ya place Brotha Lynch | |
| I' m a Southside rider, funk provider | |
| Leave you in the trunk tied up, punk ya lied to us | |
| Just to tryna glock wid us get a piece of the pie wid us | |
| We too OG, | |
| I don' t wid them mics cuz | |
| I' m diggy down it will take plots to get me now | |
| And I got the fifty thou, wanna bet ya not get me pow | |
| I' m the threat starter fire starter put a hole in ya | |
| Starter And you couldn' t find me cause it' s time for departure | |
| Tryna get ya | |
| CD' s out, | |
| I know it start ya | |
| Blame it on me | |
| I got heat, | |
| I leave ya scortched up | |
| I' m on the porch and nuttin' up, | |
| Southside, keep locked | |
| Where the | |
| G' s knock niggaz out for in' up, we tuck ' em up | |
| Me and CO and | |
| Tall Cann you can' t wid us | |
| We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin' up we got pumps and stuff | |
| All up in the trunk and stuff we be waitin' for attack | |
| Get me sprayin' on ya pack and now you layin' on ya back | |
| You ain' t payin' all ya rap taxes institute of malpractice | |
| I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic | |
| Patty mealed ass nigga put ya raps in the thrashbin | |
| Ya clashin' wid the | |
| Burbank titan fasten ya seatbelts | |
| I' m bout to make ya meat melt | |
| That beer breath spittin' meat chunks at ya wig punk | |
| I fear less rather hear less, you niggaz is tryna pay less | |
| I make ya days less trippin' on the famous tryna get famous | |
| Nigga please Tall Cann | |
| Ain' t nobody in' wit me, this side of the city | |
| Northside gangsta ride turn you liars to sissies | |
| You ain' t bangin' shit so miss me wid ya bullshit comment | |
| You know me, | |
| I worship drama that was a curse from my momma | |
| So if you wanna bring it here boy | |
| Northgate in | |
| El camino | |
| I' m right here boy | |
| All day long all night strong we be runnin' the | |
| North And | |
| I can have niggaz from your hood, run on ya porch | |
| Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts | |
| We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up | |
| After ya spirit raise up you still think you can rap you need to give them days up | |
| It' s gonna cost you ya cap takin' cheap shots at us | |
| So cuz toss me the strap and put these streets on hush | |
| Because they full of wack niggaz and they speak too much | |
| And now we can' t have that because we | |
| G too much | |
| So I' ma end it on this fact nigga' ll bleed too much | |
| Ya keep talkin' |
| zuò cí : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
| Yeh, yeh.. | |
| Back at that ass once again | |
| Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town | |
| Ya know what | |
| I' m sayin' | |
| I' ma tell ' em what | |
| I know Know what | |
| I know Brotha Lynch Hung | |
| Word on the streets is don' t quit ya day job | |
| I own spots while you won' t even get to own a spot | |
| I' m unconcious sippin' on that sugary | |
| Saint Ides | |
| Your raps need that | |
| Midas touch while mines rhymes | |
| It' s suicide in' wit me, believe it | |
| I' ll tuck the fifty cal now cause some niggaz tried to get me | |
| Split me in half like a joint bitch, | |
| I had it crackin' | |
| Slugs went flyin' through ya window, nigga | |
| I' m the captain | |
| You just rappin' to get by, might have to get to wrapped in a 65 | |
| Might have to get that truckin' and get locked | |
| Nigga you taste good like sour cream and chives over potatoes | |
| I' m a tornado, you just a puddle | |
| A poodle talkin' shit ' bout to get one put in ya noodle | |
| Biotch ya got the nuts to be attackin' back at me | |
| My chap I' m strapped have the fifty pound metal in the back seat | |
| And it' s all legal, got me dumpin' at ya | |
| Regal wid the do dirty | |
| Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me | |
| Every bitch | |
| I got I got the key to the spot | |
| Better hide yo bitch before | |
| I get the key to your spot | |
| Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock | |
| Put one right in ya head ya whole cake | |
| You ain' t even gon' play my shit rock up just like cocaine | |
| You a no name | |
| I' m preachin' you still reachin' for fame Tall Cann | |
| Same old shit but a different day | |
| Back at these niggaz like boomerangs | |
| Nigga wanna come around and do my thang | |
| Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues | |
| Call the paramedics to get you | |
| Not in' wid me in this lifetime | |
| Not thinkin' in my right mind | |
| Like Mike | |
| Tyson when it' s my time | |
| Got these niggaz hollerin' woof | |
| Baby you ain' t hard as hundred proof | |
| My fellow you just a nigga that won' t fit in a puddle | |
| Piece a shit, nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin' | |
| Dip on 21st street ridin' there won' t be a survivor | |
| Yo ass ain' t no | |
| McGuyver you done say the wrong thangs | |
| The method that | |
| I got to give ' em bustin' out some teeth to say the less | |
| You can save the rest for later | |
| I mean I' m way to major like | |
| Emajor nigga | |
| You claimin' my game but you ain' t nothin' but a hater | |
| So when I pull out my tool scram | |
| Ya riddled drain eggs and ham you in the fryin' pan | |
| The way I reach out and snap a nigga like a rubber band | |
| Oh no there goes another man tryna wid the | |
| Siccmade fam | |
| Uh, Uh again?, | |
| God damn CO | |
| These niggaz talk alot of shit but don' t really know about | |
| CO That sneaky mother a hit ya ass like ya | |
| PO When ya least expect it with the cold | |
| Smith and | |
| Wesson Have my bitch, set you up at the telly get you undressin' | |
| Then it' s lights camera action my pistol' s blastin' | |
| Ya night went from cashin' to missin' fractions | |
| But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready | |
| Instead of doin' all that yappin' shoulda copped you somethin' heavy | |
| We deadly, like rattlesnake bites y' all the taddlin' type | |
| Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life | |
| So instead of worryin' about ours you need to see | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life? | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life boy, ya can' t get it right? | |
| What' s the matter wit ya life boy, ya can' t get a life? | |
| Then spark it up this hitter does so ya can' t get no ice | |
| So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid, niggaz like us | |
| Beause we move shit like drugs where y' all stayin' and cus | |
| And talk about the same shit all day | |
| And us we on the next page and after that the next page | |
| So try again the next day if you can' t fade us today | |
| Practice makes perfect lil' guy stay in ya place Brotha Lynch | |
| I' m a Southside rider, funk provider | |
| Leave you in the trunk tied up, punk ya lied to us | |
| Just to tryna glock wid us get a piece of the pie wid us | |
| We too OG, | |
| I don' t wid them mics cuz | |
| I' m diggy down it will take plots to get me now | |
| And I got the fifty thou, wanna bet ya not get me pow | |
| I' m the threat starter fire starter put a hole in ya | |
| Starter And you couldn' t find me cause it' s time for departure | |
| Tryna get ya | |
| CD' s out, | |
| I know it start ya | |
| Blame it on me | |
| I got heat, | |
| I leave ya scortched up | |
| I' m on the porch and nuttin' up, | |
| Southside, keep locked | |
| Where the | |
| G' s knock niggaz out for in' up, we tuck ' em up | |
| Me and CO and | |
| Tall Cann you can' t wid us | |
| We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin' up we got pumps and stuff | |
| All up in the trunk and stuff we be waitin' for attack | |
| Get me sprayin' on ya pack and now you layin' on ya back | |
| You ain' t payin' all ya rap taxes institute of malpractice | |
| I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic | |
| Patty mealed ass nigga put ya raps in the thrashbin | |
| Ya clashin' wid the | |
| Burbank titan fasten ya seatbelts | |
| I' m bout to make ya meat melt | |
| That beer breath spittin' meat chunks at ya wig punk | |
| I fear less rather hear less, you niggaz is tryna pay less | |
| I make ya days less trippin' on the famous tryna get famous | |
| Nigga please Tall Cann | |
| Ain' t nobody in' wit me, this side of the city | |
| Northside gangsta ride turn you liars to sissies | |
| You ain' t bangin' shit so miss me wid ya bullshit comment | |
| You know me, | |
| I worship drama that was a curse from my momma | |
| So if you wanna bring it here boy | |
| Northgate in | |
| El camino | |
| I' m right here boy | |
| All day long all night strong we be runnin' the | |
| North And | |
| I can have niggaz from your hood, run on ya porch | |
| Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts | |
| We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up | |
| After ya spirit raise up you still think you can rap you need to give them days up | |
| It' s gonna cost you ya cap takin' cheap shots at us | |
| So cuz toss me the strap and put these streets on hush | |
| Because they full of wack niggaz and they speak too much | |
| And now we can' t have that because we | |
| G too much | |
| So I' ma end it on this fact nigga' ll bleed too much | |
| Ya keep talkin' |
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