[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
That motherfucker kept sniffin for goods
|
Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left
|
And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away
|
Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre
|
Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup
|
Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up
|
(X-caliba) [echo]
|
|
[Verse 1: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
It all started when I twisted the lid of the Olde E
|
And see E-A-R-double-O-E... ... ... (??)
|
Where my motherfuckering siccmade jacked at
|
Cuz that's the only one I could use
|
When I saw you at the war yeah when I lifted you out your shoes
|
It was the pressure from the twenty game (the twenty game)
|
Felt like it could split your chest whide open wit it
|
Well nigga you should when I'm round talkin that shit
|
Bout the nigga that's my kin-folks
|
Should knew the wheel while you was givin up that info...
|
...mation, I'll be of that Parry Mason
|
When I hit em all up, creep em all up, kill em all up, fill em all up
|
Real deal, dig a ditch give em hit a licc then take the grip
|
Put em in the back of the Cadillac show em how my Mini-Mac gonna act
|
My tactics is lethal
|
Leave the whole town hella smokey
|
like that band that steppin over dead people
|
It's like that, and you wouldn't know it cuz I'ma cool ass mufucca
|
Then dump on a gang of succas
|
as I wait for the city to heat up like a Hot Pepper
|
Gotta whole load fulla Evian
|
and a trunck fulla FO take no's and I can't let go
|
Catch you at yo show slippin
|
Hoes trippin, rows rippin in the street after I heat my heat of
|
I'm of the hook with this siccmade shit, straight made nigga
|
Fuck it, pass me the straight lace liquor to the face nigga
|
Off the Thunder Burger and Kool-Aid and O 8
|
Easy on the liver still make me kill a nigga
|
Split you head like a pineapple
|
Die natural!
|
Five at your dome send em home in a pinebox
|
Lift you out your sox
|
Pay attention to the Glock
|
Half pass a niggas ass where aimen at the grass take suitcase fulla cash and mash
|
16 in the clip crumble the urb roll a sliff bout to whatch you brain split in half
|
Bloody bath watter, infried nigga nuts and bones locaded at home I think him name is Tyrone
|
But you know...
|
|
[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
That motherfucker kept sniffin for goods
|
Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left
|
And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away
|
Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre
|
Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup
|
Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up
|
(X-caliba) [echo]
|
|
[Verse 2: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
You can call me black Sadam Huseain
|
Pump St Idees through my wein ass nigga
|
You can see me on the southside of the street
|
Man remembered by the ((opposet)) nigga that flod the city
|
Get ready for some pretty if you sicc like Frank Nitty
|
Sucked blood from my momas tittie - instead of milk
|
Played murda muzicc in my tape deck - instead of Silkk
|
Enden up killen one of them motherfuckers
|
So fuck them hoes, they like Grim
|
havin killin niggas like they gots to go
|
With the 380M - got high til seven
|
Jump in what you call it headin throughwards heaven, whit my
|
50 sacc of some shit, that'll make you get there
|
About 11:30 with your T-shirt dirty,
|
I'm worthy strapped like James as ventured in this faulty game
|
In a mainframe, that I bucked in ruff terrain, then hit the plane
|
15 guts on a tripple beam scale nigga
|
acual contact from the strap that I hale nigga
|
|
[Chorus: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
That motherfucker kept sniffin for goods
|
Put the plastic in his mouth the back of his neck left
|
And you don't know nuthin but the killa gotta away
|
Before 4.30 in the morning I'm gone in the 6-Tre
|
Wit the windows up, must have had gin in the cup
|
Cuz I'm swervin in the fast-lane gotta be spinnin em up
|
(X-caliba) [echo]
|
|
[Verse 3: Brotha Lynch Hung]
|
They got this motherfucker twisted up
|
And from the sound of the barrle I got hella motherfuckers runnin up
|
What should I do about these fuckin fleas?
|
Give em all A-1 and put they seeds in they weed
|
| Figga a way out this nigga I know |
