(Chorus)
|
If you boys got beef we can
|
Roll wit it
|
In da club or da street we can
|
Go wit it
|
It don't make me none
|
Blow for blow wit it
|
Crack his head wit a gun
|
I'ma sho split it
|
|
(Project Pat)
|
In Hollywood at the stop sign
|
Watchin out for one time
|
Clean on them things
|
Niggas hate cause I'm bout mine
|
I'm on that weed
|
So the car's kinda smokey
|
The glock's in the stash
|
Cause I'm dodgin the pokey
|
Its hard on tha street
|
Niggas livin like a catfish
|
A project killa, four kids
|
and a fat bitch
|
Try to flip e'ry quarter ounce
|
Ain't no credit barred
|
We accept cash, merchandise
|
or ya ebit(EBT) card
|
Like to start shit
|
At the club we be flexin
|
And we'll kill a bitch
|
At these hoes we be beckin
|
North North to the full
|
My game they respectin
|
A rope to the bumper
|
You get drug by yo neck-in
|
Don't come around here
|
You'z betta reckin
|
You get ya ass blowed off
|
For playin and jeckin
|
Down in this dirty
|
Only real muhfuckas rule
|
Hoes wearin flirty skirties
|
Young niggas act a fool
|
|
(Chorus x2)
|
|
(La Chat)
|
If there's some ana to handle
|
I'm gonna take care of my biz
|
I got a scope on ya body
|
I'm aimin straight for yo wig
|
I love to show out on hoes
|
I love to cut up wit niggas
|
These bitches always get wrong
|
So I love pullin tha trigga
|
And since you hoes won't learn
|
I got some lessons to teach
|
You betta call up the pastor
|
He got a sermon to preach
|
I ain't wit that arguin and cussin and fussin
|
Bitchin and fightin
|
I'm buckin choppas off top
|
Committed to takin yo life'n
|
La Chat a mac slash killa
|
Only speakin the real-a
|
I'm tryna let you know its on
|
For you violate a nigga
|
A bitch be quick to talk shit
|
But do you mean what you say
|
A real killa don't be talkin
|
They just be on they way
|
I don't think you wanna get down
|
You boys ain't ready for beef
|
There ain't nowhere you can hide
|
I called out an APD
|
This ain't game that ya playin
|
These bitches comin up slayin
|
I keep my ears to tha street
|
So hoe you watch what ya sayin
|
|
(Chorus x2)
|
|
(Project Pat)
|
They lock me up just like Tupac
|
And I went platinum
|
Layed it down for a calendar
|
Now right back at em
|
Took my game then weighed it up
|
On a triple beam
|
Niggas rob, kill, murder, steal
|
For that ghetty green
|
U.S. Marshal at my folks house
|
Wanna kill me dead
|
Wanna see me in a pine box
|
Bullet in my head
|
Police, mane I ain't did shit
|
Why you hatin this
|
Ghetto thugs love my rap songs
|
They relate to this
|
Swingin fists Knock ya eyeball
|
Clean out ya face
|
Shoulda known it was shit starters
|
All in tha place
|
Young niggas on that powder
|
Gon off tha base
|
Sneakin tones in da club
|
You could get blown away
|
Its a muhfuckin clique thang
|
Represent ya hood
|
Slangin cane makin plenty change
|
All to the good
|
Smokin blunt after blunt
|
Pound after pound
|
Throw a dead body in tha trunk
|
High we get down
|
|
(Chorus)
|
|
-----------------
|
Roll Wit It
|
| Project Pat |
