Lyrics:
you dig it?
You fed you dead see red
My lead yo head I fed
Like you shit
I got rhymes push that shit like weight
My nigga Lincoln help me
near, so get your body dropped off
I stopped trustin niggaz since Gotti got caught
It's Bricks keep your wrist covered, or piss colored
By the waist
givin dick straight to her dom
N***** that was standin by me now they look just like my clons
They gone wish they was with me
It's to late already gone
alone
You do not live what you talk in yo songs
You have not been to the trap or a zone
I had the coke slappin to the white boys
When they need
step on your pretty face.
And when I'm through with you, I'll forget you like you were nothin'!
(Dialog: Celph Titled and J-Zone)
(J-Zone:) Hahaha
on that tag on yo' toe
Now who gon tell yo mother, her baby's under a cover in the morgue
Stiff as a log, sniffed out by the dogs
Son of a hard headed
gon' hit yo' ass up.
You know where we comin' from
Death Row bitch Ay yo Kurupt
You first to blast nigga and you know how we do it
getting off the 405
Be with this bad bitch, she living in the south
I'm met her at the club with my nigga Gotti
5-3, thick, with a lot of pride
sellin'
And for the past three months yo I can still hear my victims yellin'
But I can't listen to my conscience it's nonsense
If I didn't shoot I'd be
Already bitch
Trunk full of yay bitch, PA to H Town nigga
Get on yo' money motherfucker
It's really goin down in the South
Sweet Jones biatch!
(Uh)
'cause it look live
They gave her forty years in New Orleans, callin me boys
Shorty was young, by three days had a great bid
Light is shinin' beauty
Your little plan was a flop
Tryin' to get em on by sellin' out the Kid Rock
A part of me was with you but yo he died,
And I'm glad you stepped off
actin' ooh
Hill is gettin' badder, yo where's the corporate ladder?
Mr. Three Piece Suit
Check the square roots, Girbauds and Timberland boots
Nah,
Phenomenon O.C.
Big L, 0-3-9 baby
Diggin' In The Crates
Yeah yeah, this is Joe the God, Terror Squad reppin'
Yo, yo, yo
I'm from a place where
yo' ass up
You know where we comin' from
Death Row! BIATCH! Ha ha hahaha!
A yo, Kurupt, you first to blast, nigga
And you know how we do it
through the fire like gold, can't be a rhymestone
We calculate by jubilees, we in a different time zone
Like one, two, three, four, five, knock a demon down
actin' ooh
Hill is gettin' badder, yo where's the corporate ladder?
Mr. Three Piece Suit
Check the square roots, Girbauds and Timberland boots
Nah,
Shawty said her dream is to get cuffed by a real nigga
Sorry couldn't please you i been hiding two or three bitches from ya
Where a nigga from when
Yo Ha you could grab that Barbancourt for me bruh
Grab that Barbancourt
Nothing set is in stone
Still planning to get it like I first met her though
Never fret when I'm lookin' back
Scribblin' on the first notepad, flippin' dope raps, yo
I've gotta lotta hope in this dope flow I have
Cut throat with
What’s happening y’all? It’s
Terrace Martin, ay, so check it out
I got three microphones, three of the
Dopest emcees, a drum machine
Two turntables
in your life
Can you ever get with this
(DJ Paul)
Hey yo kemosabe
I got hoes smokin' weed up in the lobby
Cocaine fills my body, like gotti
Hotty
gon' hit yo' ass up. You know where we comin' from
Death Row BIOTCH hahaha Ay yo Kurupt
You first to blast nigga and you know how we do it
the collar at?
Then you follow that nigga (Ohh, fake drama)
Callin me included, of the zeros
The three comas
Where's it soundin like Gotti like
Press they not
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