Song | Get Bacc Time |
Artist | Brotha Lynch Hung |
Album | Lynch By Inch, Suicide Note |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
I'm still walkin' this walk nigga | |
[Uh, heard that shit] | |
So watch out | |
[Verse 1] | |
See you know us nigga, we run up in ya house | |
Run up in ya room and put the gun up in ya mouth | |
Next thing you know, you just one up in a pouch | |
That's what you ****in' wid when you come up in the South | |
I spit slugs, I be off them drugs kick it wid thug niggas | |
Plug niggas, with blood on the rug | |
Nigga we got gut splitters and shovels we gravediggers | |
Wid troublesome ways and we bubble some days and some days | |
We shovel ya grave and we wrinkle ya page | |
We got shooters on the team like the Lakers we post up | |
And then bake 'em wid the toaster | |
From long distance or close up | |
We send 'em heat rocks, put 'em up under the sheetrock | |
Cheap talk, makin' all the streets hot | |
With the heat from the glock | |
And I pop holes in ya Chevy block | |
And I pop those if ya ready or not get set go | |
Burn you with the petrol, wet those niggas wid cold showers | |
Crept on them niggas and they laid out wid gun powder | |
That's one route I'm full of them scams | |
Pull and advance through your livin' room window | |
Then I'm leavin' wid blood on my hands | |
I'm a nympho, murder ya kinfolks two to the temple | |
Lay 'em on the ground from the five pound it's that simple | |
You know me nigga, I stay up in the cut | |
Every chance I get I get way up in a slut | |
Every once in a while I gotta touch a nigga up | |
So I hit the bomb and split ya palm wid paper cuts | |
I'm a oven when it comes to this thuggin' I spit fire | |
Chop ya lil rhymes to bits, 'til I'm tired | |
Of the ecstacy and 'yac and kool-aid nigga I'm wired | |
I'm a sicc nigga I rip out ya bottom teeth wid the pliers | |
And I'm tired, of the rumors I disconnect, the tuner | |
I hit ya neck wid the ruger and get respect this a shooter | |
And ya knew the, shit like this, fool you better back up | |
Tuck niggas up like buttercups somebody better get yo stuff | |
[Hook] | |
Cause it's get bacc time | |
Eye for an eye tooth for tooth | |
This ain't just no rhyme | |
Somebody gotta die and that's the truth | |
Ya shouldn'ta spit that line | |
Now look at ya hidin' in ya coupe | |
Cause it's get bacc time | |
It ain't gonna be us so it's gotta be you | |
It's like four plus four nigga | |
This shit easy as addition | |
To get back niggas and have 'em missin' | |
Wha-what what to strip wack niggas and have 'em drippin' | |
Plugged for crossin' love when my thug bring y'all the endin' | |
[x2] | |
[Verse 2] | |
Please believe it, it happens daily | |
Make bitch niggas have my babies (then what?) | |
**** 'em in the ass give 'em rabies | |
Tuck 'em in the grass I'm off the shady O-eighty | |
Wid the salt shaker tryna eat niggas up like | |
Stanley Dean bacon killer slash make me shellin' out | |
She loves me loves me not, slugs be hot | |
Run up in yo million dollar spot | |
And get the, drugs and glocks and I leave the | |
Bloody rug spots and I get the | |
Money powder and the ice and I'm from the | |
Nutty Blocc hit the lights and I'm 'bout to | |
Get the kids and the wife and I'm 'bout to | |
Hold 'em hostage if I don't get what I want | |
Cut 'em up in little sausages, wreckless how Lynch is | |
You want no vengeance, my shit spit fine lines in yo extensions | |
It grips like a tiger so it ain't no sensin' | |
Tryna get away I been dyin' to get a day to touch you up | |
I mean hire mother****ers that'll **** you up | |
Wire mother****ers all for the wet | |
I be shootin' that twelve guage offa the steps | |
Nigga off wid ya neck, ever since then, plottin' ya death | |
Get caught in your Lex take a quick wind get shot in the chest | |
Get ya cops and the tec, cause ever since then | |
Nothin'll rest 'til they gettin' locked in the pen | |
Cockin' a tec, poppin' the gin, quick to hide 'til ya set | |
See I'm at it again not 'til ya sweatin' | |
It's not under ya neck it's over ya head | |
It's over ya dead stood over ya bed pointin' a tec | |
Four to ya head jumped in the Nova and fled | |
I'm like a mother****in' gangsta | |
Bitch ass nigga I cut off ya middle finger | |
[Hook x1] | |
[Verse 3] | |
Like D-M-X I'm a ruff ryder, leave ya tied up | |
Wid ya nuts fried up | |
I'm the nigga that creep when it's dark in the sky | |
Parkin' the ride and then dartin' inside | |
Ya spot wid automatic toys nigga this sparkin' a riot | |
Good shit better hide behind ya boys | |
Nigga add gas to the flames then | |
Blast at ya main land, switch ya whole game plan | |
Leavin' bloody stains and wid enough nigga nuts and guts and | |
(Where?) Bodies in the Hudson I keep it bustin' and bustin' | |
I'm the medicine man like Robitussin | |
Hold ya huffin' and puffin' before I | |
Split ya tongue wid the jack knife better act right | |
And attack right now if you wanna get the Hung I split ya lung | |
If you lookin' for some of that sicc shit this the one | |
If you lookin' for some of that shoot 'em up kill 'em up | |
Better get ya gun, young ass rappers | |
I'm like R.Kelly I **** the young in this rap game | |
Cum on ya belly cum on ya tongue | |
Shit I'm one of the ones blowin' you up eatin' you up and then | |
Throwin' you up knowin' you sucked big fat nut nigga | |
[Hook x1] |
zuo ci : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
I' m still walkin' this walk nigga | |
Uh, heard that shit | |
So watch out | |
Verse 1 | |
See you know us nigga, we run up in ya house | |
Run up in ya room and put the gun up in ya mouth | |
Next thing you know, you just one up in a pouch | |
That' s what you in' wid when you come up in the South | |
I spit slugs, I be off them drugs kick it wid thug niggas | |
Plug niggas, with blood on the rug | |
Nigga we got gut splitters and shovels we gravediggers | |
Wid troublesome ways and we bubble some days and some days | |
We shovel ya grave and we wrinkle ya page | |
We got shooters on the team like the Lakers we post up | |
And then bake ' em wid the toaster | |
From long distance or close up | |
We send ' em heat rocks, put ' em up under the sheetrock | |
Cheap talk, makin' all the streets hot | |
With the heat from the glock | |
And I pop holes in ya Chevy block | |
And I pop those if ya ready or not get set go | |
Burn you with the petrol, wet those niggas wid cold showers | |
Crept on them niggas and they laid out wid gun powder | |
That' s one route I' m full of them scams | |
Pull and advance through your livin' room window | |
Then I' m leavin' wid blood on my hands | |
I' m a nympho, murder ya kinfolks two to the temple | |
Lay ' em on the ground from the five pound it' s that simple | |
You know me nigga, I stay up in the cut | |
Every chance I get I get way up in a slut | |
Every once in a while I gotta touch a nigga up | |
So I hit the bomb and split ya palm wid paper cuts | |
I' m a oven when it comes to this thuggin' I spit fire | |
Chop ya lil rhymes to bits, ' til I' m tired | |
Of the ecstacy and ' yac and koolaid nigga I' m wired | |
I' m a sicc nigga I rip out ya bottom teeth wid the pliers | |
And I' m tired, of the rumors I disconnect, the tuner | |
I hit ya neck wid the ruger and get respect this a shooter | |
And ya knew the, shit like this, fool you better back up | |
Tuck niggas up like buttercups somebody better get yo stuff | |
Hook | |
Cause it' s get bacc time | |
Eye for an eye tooth for tooth | |
This ain' t just no rhyme | |
Somebody gotta die and that' s the truth | |
Ya shouldn' ta spit that line | |
Now look at ya hidin' in ya coupe | |
Cause it' s get bacc time | |
It ain' t gonna be us so it' s gotta be you | |
It' s like four plus four nigga | |
This shit easy as addition | |
To get back niggas and have ' em missin' | |
Whawhat what to strip wack niggas and have ' em drippin' | |
Plugged for crossin' love when my thug bring y' all the endin' | |
x2 | |
Verse 2 | |
Please believe it, it happens daily | |
Make bitch niggas have my babies then what? | |
' em in the ass give ' em rabies | |
Tuck ' em in the grass I' m off the shady Oeighty | |
Wid the salt shaker tryna eat niggas up like | |
Stanley Dean bacon killer slash make me shellin' out | |
She loves me loves me not, slugs be hot | |
Run up in yo million dollar spot | |
And get the, drugs and glocks and I leave the | |
Bloody rug spots and I get the | |
Money powder and the ice and I' m from the | |
Nutty Blocc hit the lights and I' m ' bout to | |
Get the kids and the wife and I' m ' bout to | |
Hold ' em hostage if I don' t get what I want | |
Cut ' em up in little sausages, wreckless how Lynch is | |
You want no vengeance, my shit spit fine lines in yo extensions | |
It grips like a tiger so it ain' t no sensin' | |
Tryna get away I been dyin' to get a day to touch you up | |
I mean hire mother ers that' ll you up | |
Wire mother ers all for the wet | |
I be shootin' that twelve guage offa the steps | |
Nigga off wid ya neck, ever since then, plottin' ya death | |
Get caught in your Lex take a quick wind get shot in the chest | |
Get ya cops and the tec, cause ever since then | |
Nothin' ll rest ' til they gettin' locked in the pen | |
Cockin' a tec, poppin' the gin, quick to hide ' til ya set | |
See I' m at it again not ' til ya sweatin' | |
It' s not under ya neck it' s over ya head | |
It' s over ya dead stood over ya bed pointin' a tec | |
Four to ya head jumped in the Nova and fled | |
I' m like a mother in' gangsta | |
Bitch ass nigga I cut off ya middle finger | |
Hook x1 | |
Verse 3 | |
Like DMX I' m a ruff ryder, leave ya tied up | |
Wid ya nuts fried up | |
I' m the nigga that creep when it' s dark in the sky | |
Parkin' the ride and then dartin' inside | |
Ya spot wid automatic toys nigga this sparkin' a riot | |
Good shit better hide behind ya boys | |
Nigga add gas to the flames then | |
Blast at ya main land, switch ya whole game plan | |
Leavin' bloody stains and wid enough nigga nuts and guts and | |
Where? Bodies in the Hudson I keep it bustin' and bustin' | |
I' m the medicine man like Robitussin | |
Hold ya huffin' and puffin' before I | |
Split ya tongue wid the jack knife better act right | |
And attack right now if you wanna get the Hung I split ya lung | |
If you lookin' for some of that sicc shit this the one | |
If you lookin' for some of that shoot ' em up kill ' em up | |
Better get ya gun, young ass rappers | |
I' m like R. Kelly I the young in this rap game | |
Cum on ya belly cum on ya tongue | |
Shit I' m one of the ones blowin' you up eatin' you up and then | |
Throwin' you up knowin' you sucked big fat nut nigga | |
Hook x1 |
zuò cí : Brotha Lynch Hung | |
I' m still walkin' this walk nigga | |
Uh, heard that shit | |
So watch out | |
Verse 1 | |
See you know us nigga, we run up in ya house | |
Run up in ya room and put the gun up in ya mouth | |
Next thing you know, you just one up in a pouch | |
That' s what you in' wid when you come up in the South | |
I spit slugs, I be off them drugs kick it wid thug niggas | |
Plug niggas, with blood on the rug | |
Nigga we got gut splitters and shovels we gravediggers | |
Wid troublesome ways and we bubble some days and some days | |
We shovel ya grave and we wrinkle ya page | |
We got shooters on the team like the Lakers we post up | |
And then bake ' em wid the toaster | |
From long distance or close up | |
We send ' em heat rocks, put ' em up under the sheetrock | |
Cheap talk, makin' all the streets hot | |
With the heat from the glock | |
And I pop holes in ya Chevy block | |
And I pop those if ya ready or not get set go | |
Burn you with the petrol, wet those niggas wid cold showers | |
Crept on them niggas and they laid out wid gun powder | |
That' s one route I' m full of them scams | |
Pull and advance through your livin' room window | |
Then I' m leavin' wid blood on my hands | |
I' m a nympho, murder ya kinfolks two to the temple | |
Lay ' em on the ground from the five pound it' s that simple | |
You know me nigga, I stay up in the cut | |
Every chance I get I get way up in a slut | |
Every once in a while I gotta touch a nigga up | |
So I hit the bomb and split ya palm wid paper cuts | |
I' m a oven when it comes to this thuggin' I spit fire | |
Chop ya lil rhymes to bits, ' til I' m tired | |
Of the ecstacy and ' yac and koolaid nigga I' m wired | |
I' m a sicc nigga I rip out ya bottom teeth wid the pliers | |
And I' m tired, of the rumors I disconnect, the tuner | |
I hit ya neck wid the ruger and get respect this a shooter | |
And ya knew the, shit like this, fool you better back up | |
Tuck niggas up like buttercups somebody better get yo stuff | |
Hook | |
Cause it' s get bacc time | |
Eye for an eye tooth for tooth | |
This ain' t just no rhyme | |
Somebody gotta die and that' s the truth | |
Ya shouldn' ta spit that line | |
Now look at ya hidin' in ya coupe | |
Cause it' s get bacc time | |
It ain' t gonna be us so it' s gotta be you | |
It' s like four plus four nigga | |
This shit easy as addition | |
To get back niggas and have ' em missin' | |
Whawhat what to strip wack niggas and have ' em drippin' | |
Plugged for crossin' love when my thug bring y' all the endin' | |
x2 | |
Verse 2 | |
Please believe it, it happens daily | |
Make bitch niggas have my babies then what? | |
' em in the ass give ' em rabies | |
Tuck ' em in the grass I' m off the shady Oeighty | |
Wid the salt shaker tryna eat niggas up like | |
Stanley Dean bacon killer slash make me shellin' out | |
She loves me loves me not, slugs be hot | |
Run up in yo million dollar spot | |
And get the, drugs and glocks and I leave the | |
Bloody rug spots and I get the | |
Money powder and the ice and I' m from the | |
Nutty Blocc hit the lights and I' m ' bout to | |
Get the kids and the wife and I' m ' bout to | |
Hold ' em hostage if I don' t get what I want | |
Cut ' em up in little sausages, wreckless how Lynch is | |
You want no vengeance, my shit spit fine lines in yo extensions | |
It grips like a tiger so it ain' t no sensin' | |
Tryna get away I been dyin' to get a day to touch you up | |
I mean hire mother ers that' ll you up | |
Wire mother ers all for the wet | |
I be shootin' that twelve guage offa the steps | |
Nigga off wid ya neck, ever since then, plottin' ya death | |
Get caught in your Lex take a quick wind get shot in the chest | |
Get ya cops and the tec, cause ever since then | |
Nothin' ll rest ' til they gettin' locked in the pen | |
Cockin' a tec, poppin' the gin, quick to hide ' til ya set | |
See I' m at it again not ' til ya sweatin' | |
It' s not under ya neck it' s over ya head | |
It' s over ya dead stood over ya bed pointin' a tec | |
Four to ya head jumped in the Nova and fled | |
I' m like a mother in' gangsta | |
Bitch ass nigga I cut off ya middle finger | |
Hook x1 | |
Verse 3 | |
Like DMX I' m a ruff ryder, leave ya tied up | |
Wid ya nuts fried up | |
I' m the nigga that creep when it' s dark in the sky | |
Parkin' the ride and then dartin' inside | |
Ya spot wid automatic toys nigga this sparkin' a riot | |
Good shit better hide behind ya boys | |
Nigga add gas to the flames then | |
Blast at ya main land, switch ya whole game plan | |
Leavin' bloody stains and wid enough nigga nuts and guts and | |
Where? Bodies in the Hudson I keep it bustin' and bustin' | |
I' m the medicine man like Robitussin | |
Hold ya huffin' and puffin' before I | |
Split ya tongue wid the jack knife better act right | |
And attack right now if you wanna get the Hung I split ya lung | |
If you lookin' for some of that sicc shit this the one | |
If you lookin' for some of that shoot ' em up kill ' em up | |
Better get ya gun, young ass rappers | |
I' m like R. Kelly I the young in this rap game | |
Cum on ya belly cum on ya tongue | |
Shit I' m one of the ones blowin' you up eatin' you up and then | |
Throwin' you up knowin' you sucked big fat nut nigga | |
Hook x1 |