Snake-N-Da-Grass Lyrics
| Song | Snake-N-Da-Grass |
| Artist | E.S.G. |
| Album | All American Gangsta |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : D. Wyatt, C. Hill | |
| (*talking*) | |
| What's the deal Nanu, (wha-wha boy) | |
| Ah man, I'm sick and tired of ****ing with these Columbians man | |
| (shit man come with me), what's happ'ing | |
| You gon beat these Columbians deal | |
| (yeah man, I have everything you want) | |
| I'm trying to get, like a thousand pounds | |
| (don't worry bout that, I got everything covered), oh fa sho | |
| (yeah man), the last mother****er told me he was a snake in the grass | |
| (don't worry bout that I buckshot them), ha feel this right here | |
| [Hook - 2X] | |
| They got snakes in the grass, snitches on the block | |
| If you violate my block, (we drop your blood clot) | |
| But there's one thang, you cowards should know | |
| (you don't wanna test, a gangsta) | |
| [E.S.G.] | |
| 1999, shine and grind at Wreckshop | |
| Still had workers, moving nine and all rocks | |
| 'Fore the basketball stopped, the ref blow the whistle | |
| 'Fore I drop the top, I gotta cock my pistol | |
| Launched the local missile, we city under siege | |
| Remember my first brick, this part two G | |
| Had a partna calling me up, from Oklahoma | |
| Said he lost his connect, he use to have in California | |
| Getting pounds of dro, egg syrup clear coat | |
| I use to serve the dope, way back in 9-4 | |
| Peep this, it gets deeper as the story goes on | |
| I told him call me back, I had Whitey on the phone | |
| But that was just a lie, just made my play | |
| Then the Red meet me, at the club in my two-way | |
| Hard to stay away from paper, when you never had shit | |
| So I met him at the club, in my trunk was a brick | |
| [Hook - 2X] | |
| [E.S.G.] | |
| I told that fool get in, let his partna drive his Benz | |
| Meet me off 6-10, get a room at Shoney's Inn | |
| Said he want a whole thang, and a pound of fire | |
| Exchanged a fake hug, boy I checked it for a while | |
| I made the first thang, everythang was sweet | |
| Then they boy started coming back, every week | |
| Take twelve O-Z's, put em in a line | |
| At 24 that's 36, at the same time | |
| A kilo, and if he go and move that | |
| I'll be on two bricks, by the time he get back | |
| Hol' that thought, see this playa got caught | |
| The FED's found his work, and his cash in the vault | |
| That was mental assault, his weak mind interrogated | |
| His baby mama called me, said the nigga never made it | |
| He was easily persuaded, he ain't wanna go to jail | |
| Time to clean the house, with the cheese grab the scale | |
| [Hook - 2X] | |
| [E.S.G.] | |
| Three weeks passes, everything going smooth | |
| Then he called me out the blue, hollin' bout what it do | |
| Talking bout he need some herb, and four of them birds | |
| I'm in the house across the street, I had my phone transferred | |
| Now I'm peeping out my window, and what do I see | |
| The D.A., FBI and the HPD | |
| See I had the phone in my hand, the chopper in the other | |
| Trying to think back, have I ever sold to an undercover | |
| Ah naw hell naw, put my back against the wall | |
| Any means necessary, like Malcolm X dog | |
| Whole time, the phone conversation get recorded | |
| I said I can't hear ya, playa the phone sounding started | |
| Started thinking bout prison, judges and lawyers | |
| That's the price you gotta pay, when you wanna be a baller | |
| Can't drive my Impala, for the rest of the summer | |
| Shit **** that playboy, you got the wrong number |
| zuo qu : D. Wyatt, C. Hill | |
| talking | |
| What' s the deal Nanu, whawha boy | |
| Ah man, I' m sick and tired of ing with these Columbians man | |
| shit man come with me, what' s happ' ing | |
| You gon beat these Columbians deal | |
| yeah man, I have everything you want | |
| I' m trying to get, like a thousand pounds | |
| don' t worry bout that, I got everything covered, oh fa sho | |
| yeah man, the last mother er told me he was a snake in the grass | |
| don' t worry bout that I buckshot them, ha feel this right here | |
| Hook 2X | |
| They got snakes in the grass, snitches on the block | |
| If you violate my block, we drop your blood clot | |
| But there' s one thang, you cowards should know | |
| you don' t wanna test, a gangsta | |
| E. S. G. | |
| 1999, shine and grind at Wreckshop | |
| Still had workers, moving nine and all rocks | |
| ' Fore the basketball stopped, the ref blow the whistle | |
| ' Fore I drop the top, I gotta cock my pistol | |
| Launched the local missile, we city under siege | |
| Remember my first brick, this part two G | |
| Had a partna calling me up, from Oklahoma | |
| Said he lost his connect, he use to have in California | |
| Getting pounds of dro, egg syrup clear coat | |
| I use to serve the dope, way back in 94 | |
| Peep this, it gets deeper as the story goes on | |
| I told him call me back, I had Whitey on the phone | |
| But that was just a lie, just made my play | |
| Then the Red meet me, at the club in my twoway | |
| Hard to stay away from paper, when you never had shit | |
| So I met him at the club, in my trunk was a brick | |
| Hook 2X | |
| E. S. G. | |
| I told that fool get in, let his partna drive his Benz | |
| Meet me off 610, get a room at Shoney' s Inn | |
| Said he want a whole thang, and a pound of fire | |
| Exchanged a fake hug, boy I checked it for a while | |
| I made the first thang, everythang was sweet | |
| Then they boy started coming back, every week | |
| Take twelve OZ' s, put em in a line | |
| At 24 that' s 36, at the same time | |
| A kilo, and if he go and move that | |
| I' ll be on two bricks, by the time he get back | |
| Hol' that thought, see this playa got caught | |
| The FED' s found his work, and his cash in the vault | |
| That was mental assault, his weak mind interrogated | |
| His baby mama called me, said the nigga never made it | |
| He was easily persuaded, he ain' t wanna go to jail | |
| Time to clean the house, with the cheese grab the scale | |
| Hook 2X | |
| E. S. G. | |
| Three weeks passes, everything going smooth | |
| Then he called me out the blue, hollin' bout what it do | |
| Talking bout he need some herb, and four of them birds | |
| I' m in the house across the street, I had my phone transferred | |
| Now I' m peeping out my window, and what do I see | |
| The D. A., FBI and the HPD | |
| See I had the phone in my hand, the chopper in the other | |
| Trying to think back, have I ever sold to an undercover | |
| Ah naw hell naw, put my back against the wall | |
| Any means necessary, like Malcolm X dog | |
| Whole time, the phone conversation get recorded | |
| I said I can' t hear ya, playa the phone sounding started | |
| Started thinking bout prison, judges and lawyers | |
| That' s the price you gotta pay, when you wanna be a baller | |
| Can' t drive my Impala, for the rest of the summer | |
| Shit that playboy, you got the wrong number |
| zuò qǔ : D. Wyatt, C. Hill | |
| talking | |
| What' s the deal Nanu, whawha boy | |
| Ah man, I' m sick and tired of ing with these Columbians man | |
| shit man come with me, what' s happ' ing | |
| You gon beat these Columbians deal | |
| yeah man, I have everything you want | |
| I' m trying to get, like a thousand pounds | |
| don' t worry bout that, I got everything covered, oh fa sho | |
| yeah man, the last mother er told me he was a snake in the grass | |
| don' t worry bout that I buckshot them, ha feel this right here | |
| Hook 2X | |
| They got snakes in the grass, snitches on the block | |
| If you violate my block, we drop your blood clot | |
| But there' s one thang, you cowards should know | |
| you don' t wanna test, a gangsta | |
| E. S. G. | |
| 1999, shine and grind at Wreckshop | |
| Still had workers, moving nine and all rocks | |
| ' Fore the basketball stopped, the ref blow the whistle | |
| ' Fore I drop the top, I gotta cock my pistol | |
| Launched the local missile, we city under siege | |
| Remember my first brick, this part two G | |
| Had a partna calling me up, from Oklahoma | |
| Said he lost his connect, he use to have in California | |
| Getting pounds of dro, egg syrup clear coat | |
| I use to serve the dope, way back in 94 | |
| Peep this, it gets deeper as the story goes on | |
| I told him call me back, I had Whitey on the phone | |
| But that was just a lie, just made my play | |
| Then the Red meet me, at the club in my twoway | |
| Hard to stay away from paper, when you never had shit | |
| So I met him at the club, in my trunk was a brick | |
| Hook 2X | |
| E. S. G. | |
| I told that fool get in, let his partna drive his Benz | |
| Meet me off 610, get a room at Shoney' s Inn | |
| Said he want a whole thang, and a pound of fire | |
| Exchanged a fake hug, boy I checked it for a while | |
| I made the first thang, everythang was sweet | |
| Then they boy started coming back, every week | |
| Take twelve OZ' s, put em in a line | |
| At 24 that' s 36, at the same time | |
| A kilo, and if he go and move that | |
| I' ll be on two bricks, by the time he get back | |
| Hol' that thought, see this playa got caught | |
| The FED' s found his work, and his cash in the vault | |
| That was mental assault, his weak mind interrogated | |
| His baby mama called me, said the nigga never made it | |
| He was easily persuaded, he ain' t wanna go to jail | |
| Time to clean the house, with the cheese grab the scale | |
| Hook 2X | |
| E. S. G. | |
| Three weeks passes, everything going smooth | |
| Then he called me out the blue, hollin' bout what it do | |
| Talking bout he need some herb, and four of them birds | |
| I' m in the house across the street, I had my phone transferred | |
| Now I' m peeping out my window, and what do I see | |
| The D. A., FBI and the HPD | |
| See I had the phone in my hand, the chopper in the other | |
| Trying to think back, have I ever sold to an undercover | |
| Ah naw hell naw, put my back against the wall | |
| Any means necessary, like Malcolm X dog | |
| Whole time, the phone conversation get recorded | |
| I said I can' t hear ya, playa the phone sounding started | |
| Started thinking bout prison, judges and lawyers | |
| That' s the price you gotta pay, when you wanna be a baller | |
| Can' t drive my Impala, for the rest of the summer | |
| Shit that playboy, you got the wrong number |
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