Jiggy Comin' Lyrics
| Song | Jiggy Comin' |
| Artist | Shyheim |
| Album | The Lost Generation |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Franklin, Quinn | |
| Phone rings twice* | |
| Hello? | |
| (arabic voice) you have a collect call phone call | |
| In a new york state correctional facility | |
| Press five five to accept, or hang up to decline | |
| Verse one: | |
| Whattup gangstas, how tha fuck ya'll feel | |
| We keepin it real, and hold on tight to your steel | |
| Let them caps peel, one by one | |
| And laugh while the nig run | |
| He shoulda been packin his gun, now he gone | |
| Cuz he got slippin like an old bitch | |
| In the wet staircase shaft, now watch his man snitch | |
| To tha police, but them no worry me son | |
| I ain't trying to get back it'd be my third felony | |
| Pataki he want to see us, criminals fry | |
| In the electric chair, but my spirit will never die | |
| A true project nigga, i won't hesitate | |
| To pull the blaow, peace to all busy niggaz | |
| One love y'all stay safe | |
| And fuck you, officer brown, peace to that nigga case | |
| Chorus: repeat 4x | |
| Whoo whoo | |
| Jiggy comin, fuck tha police y'all, cuz i ain't runnin | |
| Verse two: | |
| All ya'll police can suck my diiiiiiick | |
| And mayor gulliani, that cracker boy full of shit | |
| I represent, for all my niggaz doing time | |
| And those who got beat up and killed by the swine | |
| Beo-tches, them porks, beotch | |
| Them think them bad, cuz they carry, glocks and badges | |
| And when i'm pimpin in my green acura | |
| They pull me over, like i stole it from some nigga | |
| But all my paperwork is legit | |
| Registered insured in my name, so ya'll pigs can shit | |
| Police be cockin me like i'm some dime piece | |
| A g from the street so i can never turn beast | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse three: | |
| There's crooked cops, that's why they get shot by tha minute | |
| If you were criminal and you ready to represent, kid | |
| Blaow, that's how i like it, word is bond | |
| My hair ain't blonde my eyes ain't blue so now i'm dead boo | |
| It's on like this is war, all my brothers in the hood | |
| I gots fam that's constant understand i wish they would | |
| But it's all good, peace to my niggaz locked in jail | |
| Bushy kam, killa kane, fogey foo, and ale | |
| Down low wrecka and junior be on storm | |
| Keep your headz up, and keep it real cuz you know i'm gonna | |
| And for my niggaz doin six months | |
| I see yo ass next summer, word up | |
| Chorus |
| zuo ci : Franklin, Quinn | |
| Phone rings twice | |
| Hello? | |
| arabic voice you have a collect call phone call | |
| In a new york state correctional facility | |
| Press five five to accept, or hang up to decline | |
| Verse one: | |
| Whattup gangstas, how tha fuck ya' ll feel | |
| We keepin it real, and hold on tight to your steel | |
| Let them caps peel, one by one | |
| And laugh while the nig run | |
| He shoulda been packin his gun, now he gone | |
| Cuz he got slippin like an old bitch | |
| In the wet staircase shaft, now watch his man snitch | |
| To tha police, but them no worry me son | |
| I ain' t trying to get back it' d be my third felony | |
| Pataki he want to see us, criminals fry | |
| In the electric chair, but my spirit will never die | |
| A true project nigga, i won' t hesitate | |
| To pull the blaow, peace to all busy niggaz | |
| One love y' all stay safe | |
| And fuck you, officer brown, peace to that nigga case | |
| Chorus: repeat 4x | |
| Whoo whoo | |
| Jiggy comin, fuck tha police y' all, cuz i ain' t runnin | |
| Verse two: | |
| All ya' ll police can suck my diiiiiiick | |
| And mayor gulliani, that cracker boy full of shit | |
| I represent, for all my niggaz doing time | |
| And those who got beat up and killed by the swine | |
| Beotches, them porks, beotch | |
| Them think them bad, cuz they carry, glocks and badges | |
| And when i' m pimpin in my green acura | |
| They pull me over, like i stole it from some nigga | |
| But all my paperwork is legit | |
| Registered insured in my name, so ya' ll pigs can shit | |
| Police be cockin me like i' m some dime piece | |
| A g from the street so i can never turn beast | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse three: | |
| There' s crooked cops, that' s why they get shot by tha minute | |
| If you were criminal and you ready to represent, kid | |
| Blaow, that' s how i like it, word is bond | |
| My hair ain' t blonde my eyes ain' t blue so now i' m dead boo | |
| It' s on like this is war, all my brothers in the hood | |
| I gots fam that' s constant understand i wish they would | |
| But it' s all good, peace to my niggaz locked in jail | |
| Bushy kam, killa kane, fogey foo, and ale | |
| Down low wrecka and junior be on storm | |
| Keep your headz up, and keep it real cuz you know i' m gonna | |
| And for my niggaz doin six months | |
| I see yo ass next summer, word up | |
| Chorus |
| zuò cí : Franklin, Quinn | |
| Phone rings twice | |
| Hello? | |
| arabic voice you have a collect call phone call | |
| In a new york state correctional facility | |
| Press five five to accept, or hang up to decline | |
| Verse one: | |
| Whattup gangstas, how tha fuck ya' ll feel | |
| We keepin it real, and hold on tight to your steel | |
| Let them caps peel, one by one | |
| And laugh while the nig run | |
| He shoulda been packin his gun, now he gone | |
| Cuz he got slippin like an old bitch | |
| In the wet staircase shaft, now watch his man snitch | |
| To tha police, but them no worry me son | |
| I ain' t trying to get back it' d be my third felony | |
| Pataki he want to see us, criminals fry | |
| In the electric chair, but my spirit will never die | |
| A true project nigga, i won' t hesitate | |
| To pull the blaow, peace to all busy niggaz | |
| One love y' all stay safe | |
| And fuck you, officer brown, peace to that nigga case | |
| Chorus: repeat 4x | |
| Whoo whoo | |
| Jiggy comin, fuck tha police y' all, cuz i ain' t runnin | |
| Verse two: | |
| All ya' ll police can suck my diiiiiiick | |
| And mayor gulliani, that cracker boy full of shit | |
| I represent, for all my niggaz doing time | |
| And those who got beat up and killed by the swine | |
| Beotches, them porks, beotch | |
| Them think them bad, cuz they carry, glocks and badges | |
| And when i' m pimpin in my green acura | |
| They pull me over, like i stole it from some nigga | |
| But all my paperwork is legit | |
| Registered insured in my name, so ya' ll pigs can shit | |
| Police be cockin me like i' m some dime piece | |
| A g from the street so i can never turn beast | |
| Chorus | |
| Verse three: | |
| There' s crooked cops, that' s why they get shot by tha minute | |
| If you were criminal and you ready to represent, kid | |
| Blaow, that' s how i like it, word is bond | |
| My hair ain' t blonde my eyes ain' t blue so now i' m dead boo | |
| It' s on like this is war, all my brothers in the hood | |
| I gots fam that' s constant understand i wish they would | |
| But it' s all good, peace to my niggaz locked in jail | |
| Bushy kam, killa kane, fogey foo, and ale | |
| Down low wrecka and junior be on storm | |
| Keep your headz up, and keep it real cuz you know i' m gonna | |
| And for my niggaz doin six months | |
| I see yo ass next summer, word up | |
| Chorus |
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