That's Why I Carry Lyrics
| Song | That's Why I Carry |
| Artist | UGK |
| Album | Ridin' Dirty |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Butler, Freeman, Johnson | |
| Bun B: | |
| Man, all these muthafuckin' niggas out here... | |
| Man, you know what I'm sayin'? | |
| Everytime I try to go somewhere | |
| I got plex from these lil' sorry, punk, pussy, no good hatin' | |
| You know what I'm sayin'? | |
| Every single day, man...Start shit, man | |
| I get lot a plex on these streets, baby...know what I'm sayin'? | |
| I'm lookin' at H-Town's North and the Southside doin' it. | |
| In P.A., you know what I'm sayin', in Port A, 'cause you know... | |
| Even the East coast and the West coast got the plex, man | |
| Man, y'all bettah keep yo' distance, man | |
| I'm tellin' you it's real. | |
| Bun B: | |
| My nigga, you done pushed the wrong button | |
| I ain't never ran this hot. | |
| Now you the number one nigga | |
| I wanna whoop the piss out. | |
| And this not a threat, bet that | |
| I ain't gonna let that slide, | |
| Gotta get that bitch right, | |
| Want him dead by midnight. | |
| I followed him from his crib to the crack spot; | |
| I watched him go in and come back out | |
| I got ready to pull the Mac out. | |
| Sandwiched him by the feeder of 610, | |
| Unloaded the pistol, now dirt is now what his dick in. | |
| Shit, I seen a slab get stripped: | |
| The discs, seats, and sound gone, | |
| And candy paint burnt to a crisp. | |
| These niggas gettin' hated on | |
| For the '84s that they skated on. | |
| Jackers in the dark alley waited on | |
| The fool comin' out the gamblin' shack | |
| Pistol to his back, took 4 ounces of crack, | |
| And a fat dozier sack. | |
| That's why I pack, my nigga | |
| That's why I pray, 'cause where I stay | |
| I got to carry my muthafuckin' gun every single day. | |
| Chorus: (x4) | |
| Motherfuckers wanna start shit in every way | |
| That's why I carry my muthafuckin' gun | |
| Every single day. | |
| Pimp C: | |
| The p-l-e-x is crowdin' all my space; | |
| 'Bout to pop this muthafuckah 'cause he standin' in my place. | |
| He sellin' on my block, | |
| Jackin' from my boys, | |
| They comin' on our side throwin' down and talkin' noise. | |
| Now, I occupy my time hustlin' and gettin' paid. | |
| He occupyin' his time tryin' to get boys for they Blades... | |
| Gettin' 'em for they Chevy 'Burbans. | |
| They jumpin' out a who doos | |
| Comin' down swingin', jumpin' out of candy blues, | |
| Talkin' 'bout give it up smooth. | |
| Baby boy, it's some hatin' goin' on in P.A., | |
| Mostly over stanky bitches, and who sold the most yay. | |
| Niggas stuntin', pullin' pistols endin' up in the grave. | |
| When I pull I always pop, that's why I'm livin' today. | |
| Girl-ass niggas causin' plex between friends; | |
| And, when you bust on your boy, | |
| Don't neither one a y'all niggas win. | |
| You end up killin' somebody that you ain't really ain't wanna kill | |
| Over a pussy-ass nigga that's showin' ho-type skills. | |
| Chorus: (x4) | |
| Bun B: | |
| Comin' from the small town of madness | |
| Late night us all murd'rers | |
| Playa-hated, scandalous hoes, and 'Lac-drivin' slab hurters, | |
| Acted bad after 8. | |
| You can catch us on the late, | |
| Rollin' dice, blowin', and sippin' on the bar straight. | |
| We got the red drank, orange drank, purple drank | |
| Laughin' at these mark hoes | |
| That say they never heard a drank. | |
| Half-gallon Big Gulp, Big Red, big cup, drink mixed up, | |
| Blowin' sweets, and lightin' sticks up. | |
| Now, in my new world slow down I can see | |
| Niggas talkin' shit, | |
| Tryin' to see if what they said got to me; | |
| But, hoe-wearin' type of skills say a lot to me. | |
| You jus' gon' fuck around and get yourself shot to be, or not to be. | |
| Muthafuckas plot to see me crack | |
| Under pressure so they just impress a nigga to see me react. | |
| These niggas try to stare me down like a scary clown. | |
| Don't dare me, 'round | |
| Here we fuck your game up like Larry Brown; | |
| And, carry pounds a killer 'round like groceries, | |
| With a prescence that make you not | |
| Wanna stand close to me. | |
| Talkin' 'bout we supposed to be brothers | |
| Don't make me laugh, muthafuckers, you chose to be | |
| On the side opposin' me. | |
| Don't matter what coast ya' be from | |
| Bun and C 'll light your world up explosively. | |
| Chorus: (x12) |
| zuo qu : Butler, Freeman, Johnson | |
| Bun B: | |
| Man, all these muthafuckin' niggas out here... | |
| Man, you know what I' m sayin'? | |
| Everytime I try to go somewhere | |
| I got plex from these lil' sorry, punk, pussy, no good hatin' | |
| You know what I' m sayin'? | |
| Every single day, man... Start shit, man | |
| I get lot a plex on these streets, baby... know what I' m sayin'? | |
| I' m lookin' at HTown' s North and the Southside doin' it. | |
| In P. A., you know what I' m sayin', in Port A, ' cause you know... | |
| Even the East coast and the West coast got the plex, man | |
| Man, y' all bettah keep yo' distance, man | |
| I' m tellin' you it' s real. | |
| Bun B: | |
| My nigga, you done pushed the wrong button | |
| I ain' t never ran this hot. | |
| Now you the number one nigga | |
| I wanna whoop the piss out. | |
| And this not a threat, bet that | |
| I ain' t gonna let that slide, | |
| Gotta get that bitch right, | |
| Want him dead by midnight. | |
| I followed him from his crib to the crack spot | |
| I watched him go in and come back out | |
| I got ready to pull the Mac out. | |
| Sandwiched him by the feeder of 610, | |
| Unloaded the pistol, now dirt is now what his dick in. | |
| Shit, I seen a slab get stripped: | |
| The discs, seats, and sound gone, | |
| And candy paint burnt to a crisp. | |
| These niggas gettin' hated on | |
| For the ' 84s that they skated on. | |
| Jackers in the dark alley waited on | |
| The fool comin' out the gamblin' shack | |
| Pistol to his back, took 4 ounces of crack, | |
| And a fat dozier sack. | |
| That' s why I pack, my nigga | |
| That' s why I pray, ' cause where I stay | |
| I got to carry my muthafuckin' gun every single day. | |
| Chorus: x4 | |
| Motherfuckers wanna start shit in every way | |
| That' s why I carry my muthafuckin' gun | |
| Every single day. | |
| Pimp C: | |
| The plex is crowdin' all my space | |
| ' Bout to pop this muthafuckah ' cause he standin' in my place. | |
| He sellin' on my block, | |
| Jackin' from my boys, | |
| They comin' on our side throwin' down and talkin' noise. | |
| Now, I occupy my time hustlin' and gettin' paid. | |
| He occupyin' his time tryin' to get boys for they Blades... | |
| Gettin' ' em for they Chevy ' Burbans. | |
| They jumpin' out a who doos | |
| Comin' down swingin', jumpin' out of candy blues, | |
| Talkin' ' bout give it up smooth. | |
| Baby boy, it' s some hatin' goin' on in P. A., | |
| Mostly over stanky bitches, and who sold the most yay. | |
| Niggas stuntin', pullin' pistols endin' up in the grave. | |
| When I pull I always pop, that' s why I' m livin' today. | |
| Girlass niggas causin' plex between friends | |
| And, when you bust on your boy, | |
| Don' t neither one a y' all niggas win. | |
| You end up killin' somebody that you ain' t really ain' t wanna kill | |
| Over a pussyass nigga that' s showin' hotype skills. | |
| Chorus: x4 | |
| Bun B: | |
| Comin' from the small town of madness | |
| Late night us all murd' rers | |
| Playahated, scandalous hoes, and ' Lacdrivin' slab hurters, | |
| Acted bad after 8. | |
| You can catch us on the late, | |
| Rollin' dice, blowin', and sippin' on the bar straight. | |
| We got the red drank, orange drank, purple drank | |
| Laughin' at these mark hoes | |
| That say they never heard a drank. | |
| Halfgallon Big Gulp, Big Red, big cup, drink mixed up, | |
| Blowin' sweets, and lightin' sticks up. | |
| Now, in my new world slow down I can see | |
| Niggas talkin' shit, | |
| Tryin' to see if what they said got to me | |
| But, hoewearin' type of skills say a lot to me. | |
| You jus' gon' fuck around and get yourself shot to be, or not to be. | |
| Muthafuckas plot to see me crack | |
| Under pressure so they just impress a nigga to see me react. | |
| These niggas try to stare me down like a scary clown. | |
| Don' t dare me, ' round | |
| Here we fuck your game up like Larry Brown | |
| And, carry pounds a killer ' round like groceries, | |
| With a prescence that make you not | |
| Wanna stand close to me. | |
| Talkin' ' bout we supposed to be brothers | |
| Don' t make me laugh, muthafuckers, you chose to be | |
| On the side opposin' me. | |
| Don' t matter what coast ya' be from | |
| Bun and C ' ll light your world up explosively. | |
| Chorus: x12 |
| zuò qǔ : Butler, Freeman, Johnson | |
| Bun B: | |
| Man, all these muthafuckin' niggas out here... | |
| Man, you know what I' m sayin'? | |
| Everytime I try to go somewhere | |
| I got plex from these lil' sorry, punk, pussy, no good hatin' | |
| You know what I' m sayin'? | |
| Every single day, man... Start shit, man | |
| I get lot a plex on these streets, baby... know what I' m sayin'? | |
| I' m lookin' at HTown' s North and the Southside doin' it. | |
| In P. A., you know what I' m sayin', in Port A, ' cause you know... | |
| Even the East coast and the West coast got the plex, man | |
| Man, y' all bettah keep yo' distance, man | |
| I' m tellin' you it' s real. | |
| Bun B: | |
| My nigga, you done pushed the wrong button | |
| I ain' t never ran this hot. | |
| Now you the number one nigga | |
| I wanna whoop the piss out. | |
| And this not a threat, bet that | |
| I ain' t gonna let that slide, | |
| Gotta get that bitch right, | |
| Want him dead by midnight. | |
| I followed him from his crib to the crack spot | |
| I watched him go in and come back out | |
| I got ready to pull the Mac out. | |
| Sandwiched him by the feeder of 610, | |
| Unloaded the pistol, now dirt is now what his dick in. | |
| Shit, I seen a slab get stripped: | |
| The discs, seats, and sound gone, | |
| And candy paint burnt to a crisp. | |
| These niggas gettin' hated on | |
| For the ' 84s that they skated on. | |
| Jackers in the dark alley waited on | |
| The fool comin' out the gamblin' shack | |
| Pistol to his back, took 4 ounces of crack, | |
| And a fat dozier sack. | |
| That' s why I pack, my nigga | |
| That' s why I pray, ' cause where I stay | |
| I got to carry my muthafuckin' gun every single day. | |
| Chorus: x4 | |
| Motherfuckers wanna start shit in every way | |
| That' s why I carry my muthafuckin' gun | |
| Every single day. | |
| Pimp C: | |
| The plex is crowdin' all my space | |
| ' Bout to pop this muthafuckah ' cause he standin' in my place. | |
| He sellin' on my block, | |
| Jackin' from my boys, | |
| They comin' on our side throwin' down and talkin' noise. | |
| Now, I occupy my time hustlin' and gettin' paid. | |
| He occupyin' his time tryin' to get boys for they Blades... | |
| Gettin' ' em for they Chevy ' Burbans. | |
| They jumpin' out a who doos | |
| Comin' down swingin', jumpin' out of candy blues, | |
| Talkin' ' bout give it up smooth. | |
| Baby boy, it' s some hatin' goin' on in P. A., | |
| Mostly over stanky bitches, and who sold the most yay. | |
| Niggas stuntin', pullin' pistols endin' up in the grave. | |
| When I pull I always pop, that' s why I' m livin' today. | |
| Girlass niggas causin' plex between friends | |
| And, when you bust on your boy, | |
| Don' t neither one a y' all niggas win. | |
| You end up killin' somebody that you ain' t really ain' t wanna kill | |
| Over a pussyass nigga that' s showin' hotype skills. | |
| Chorus: x4 | |
| Bun B: | |
| Comin' from the small town of madness | |
| Late night us all murd' rers | |
| Playahated, scandalous hoes, and ' Lacdrivin' slab hurters, | |
| Acted bad after 8. | |
| You can catch us on the late, | |
| Rollin' dice, blowin', and sippin' on the bar straight. | |
| We got the red drank, orange drank, purple drank | |
| Laughin' at these mark hoes | |
| That say they never heard a drank. | |
| Halfgallon Big Gulp, Big Red, big cup, drink mixed up, | |
| Blowin' sweets, and lightin' sticks up. | |
| Now, in my new world slow down I can see | |
| Niggas talkin' shit, | |
| Tryin' to see if what they said got to me | |
| But, hoewearin' type of skills say a lot to me. | |
| You jus' gon' fuck around and get yourself shot to be, or not to be. | |
| Muthafuckas plot to see me crack | |
| Under pressure so they just impress a nigga to see me react. | |
| These niggas try to stare me down like a scary clown. | |
| Don' t dare me, ' round | |
| Here we fuck your game up like Larry Brown | |
| And, carry pounds a killer ' round like groceries, | |
| With a prescence that make you not | |
| Wanna stand close to me. | |
| Talkin' ' bout we supposed to be brothers | |
| Don' t make me laugh, muthafuckers, you chose to be | |
| On the side opposin' me. | |
| Don' t matter what coast ya' be from | |
| Bun and C ' ll light your world up explosively. | |
| Chorus: x12 |
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