Get Bacc Time Lyrics
| 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 |
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