Lyrics:
Anger! hostility towards the opposition! 187 l.a. trademark,
Don't come to the killing fields if you ain't got no fucking
Heart, 'cause willie, ira
187
But my counter-proposition is a
One eighty seven i'll put a bounty on the
Head of a racist reverend
And drag his body through the
Streets
Yo, this one goes out to anybody that's gotten wronged, been harassed or had to fear for their fucking life, by the bent, corrupt, twisted fucks we
stopper, better call em helicopters on em
Definition of slidin 187
Represent your side only thugs go to heaven
Never Hollywood even though I got it good
I
the street, so we had to ride,
I wanted to fight, his pride felt I had to die,
He screamed 187, I say I never hide,
You know where Im at boy I aint hard
Leci 187 a nie Jeden Osiem L
U nas wszystko zgadza sie u was 08g
Frosti a nie Jadakiss
Ona da za dziada kiss
Ale nie w penis
I choć nie wygląda jak
jusqu'à l'infini
J'traverse les ères comme Jordan VI et Tacchini
J'met des crampes tah CR7 à Platini
Ça sonne comme un putain de drive-By sur Compton
Serve a couple tables and I'm off on my Bianchi
I'm outie kemosabe weaving all these zombies by me
Money, money, money all they ever fucking say
I
j'divise 6.6.6 par 3.56
Ça donne 187 et quelques morts sur ma calculatrice
J'suis de retour, j'ai graille tous les vautours
Le game a la calviss', au
Satan is not by himself. And then at times we only say "Satan I bind you" but we must now say "Satan I bind you, I bind your angelic race, and I bind your
to H-Town, connectin SouthSide
Now we worldwide, watch me highside
Fat Pat blowin killa, can't be denied
187 thugs, oh yeah we got love
Blowin sticky green we
know I clown
Pistol whippin and strippin em
Down to they riches, rapin they bitches
Nigga it's a, jack move, 187, count yo blessin
Hollow tips
Yo my name is Age ese, I'm down wit the Godside
But saves que, I used to be in gangs, runnin the streets
Pullin drive bys, thuggin, gettin high,
I'm paranoid, and my momma think I'm special
But fuck them, I can't trust nobody but Dan Wessern
Its a, cold game, they only know me by my code name
motherfuck
Paisley Bandana Locs
Gangbangin' in Chucks
Taylors Biatch
187 Bis ins Grab oder in den Knast
Niya
Verstehste was ich sag
Hier fragt
Man nicht wer
BOY!
[Chorus]
[Mr. Shadow] - Verse 3
As I kick down the gate you realize you're in danger
Stranger for puttin' 1-8-7 on my pager
Face the motherfuckin'
stop
Cause its 187 on a muthafuckin cop
And ya stripes will get took quick, bust ya damn dick
By a reckless young black pit
Indo or tai, nigga lets get
a game in my vein
Verse 1: Mac
Murda murda I wrote it in braile
Uncut, lyrical dope, certified by my scale
The homicide rapper, there'll never be another
the opposition
Anger, anger, anger, anger!
Bust a cap in 'em!
Boom boom boom boom damn!
187 L.A. trademark
Don't come to the killing fields
If you ain't got no
heard of me
Creeping through the dark in the oldsmobile
Drive-by shoot to kill
So watch your step
Big stalks won't stop
I keep the pussy wet
Break bread
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