Songtext:
feat. CO, Tall Cann Rote Klebefolie [Lynch Talking] Yeh, yeh.. Back at that ass once again Had to do it, bitch niggaz in the town Ya know what I'm sayin' I'ma tell 'em what I know Know what I know
[Brotha Lynch Hung] Word on the streets is don't quit ya day job I own spots while you won't even get to own a spot I'm unconcious sippin' on that sugary Saint I-des Your raps need that Midas touch while mines rhymes Langenfeld Webauftritt It's suicide fuckin' wit me, believe it I'll tuck the fifty cal now cause some niggaz tried to get me Split me in half like a joint bitch, I had it crackin' Slugs went flyin' through ya window, nigga I'm the captain You just rappin' to get by, might have to get to wrapped in a 6-5 Might have to get that truckin' and get locked Nigga you taste good like sour cream and chives over potatoes I'm a tornado, you just a puddle A poodle talkin' shit 'bout to get one put in ya noodle Biotch ya got the nuts to be attackin' back at me My chap I'm strapped have the fifty pound metal in the back seat And it's all legal, got me dumpin' at ya Regal wid the do dirty Gotta get mine done no matter who hurt me Every bitch I got I got the key to the spot Better hide yo bitch before I get the key to your spot Stand right over ya bed wid yo glock Put one right in ya head ya whole cake You ain't even gon' play my shit rock up just like cocaine You a no name I'm preachin' you still reachin' for fame
[Tall Cann] Same old shit but a different day Back at these niggaz like boomerangs Nigga wanna come around and do my thang Bangin' these niggaz for the dead issues Call the paramedics to get you Not fuckin' wid me in this lifetime Not thinkin' in my right mind Like Mike Tyson when it's my time Got these niggaz hollerin' woof Baby you ain't hard as hundred proof My fellow you just a nigga that won't fit in a puddle Piece a shit, nut ridin' get your ass outta hidin' Dip on 21st street ridin' there won't be a survivor Yo ass ain't no McGuyver you done say the wrong thangs The method that I got to give 'em bustin' out some teeth to say the less You can save the rest for later I mean I'm way to major like E-major nigga You claimin' my game but you ain't nothin' but a hater So when I pull out my tool scram Ya riddled drain eggs and ham you in the fryin' pan The way I reach out and snap a nigga like a rubber band Oh no there goes another man tryna fuck wid the Siccmade fam Uh, Uh again?, God damn
[CO] These niggaz talk alot of shit but don't really know about C-O That sneaky motherfucka hit ya ass like ya P-O When ya least expect it with the cold Smith and Wesson Have my bitch, set you up at the telly get you undressin' Then it's lights camera action my pistol's blastin' Ya night went from cashin' to missin' fractions But shit do happen, so ya shoulda been ready Instead of doin' all that yappin' shoulda copped you somethin' heavy We deadly, like rattlesnake bites y'all the taddlin' type Deal wit my pain and probably rattle ya life So instead of worryin' about ours you need to see What's the matter wit ya life? What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get it right? What's the matter wit ya life boy, ya can't get a life? Then spark it up this hitter does so ya can't get no ice So now ya wanna hold a grudge wid, niggaz like us Beause we move shit like drugs where y'all stayin' and cus And talk about the same shit all day And us we on the next page and after that the next page So try again the next day if you can't fade us today Practice makes perfect lil' guy stay in ya place
[Brotha Lynch] I'm a Southside rider, funk provider Leave you in the trunk tied up, punk ya lied to us Just to tryna glock wid us get a piece of the pie wid us We too O-G, I don't fuck wid them mics cuz I'm diggy down it will take plots to get me now And I got the fifty thou, wanna bet ya not get me pow I'm the threat starter fire starter put a hole in ya Starter And you couldn't find me cause it's time for departure Tryna get ya CD's out, I know it start ya Blame it on me I got heat, I leave ya scortched up I'm on the porch and nuttin' up, Southside, keep locked Where the G's knock niggaz out for fuckin' up, we tuck 'em up Me and C-O and Tall Cann you can't fuck wid us We somethin' rough you niggaz be punkin' up we got pumps and stuff All up in the trunk and stuff we be waitin' for attack Get me sprayin' on ya pack and now you layin' on ya back You ain't payin' all ya rap taxes institute of malpractice I put ya raps in a casket you half plastic Patty mealed ass nigga put ya raps in the thrashbin Ya clashin' wid the Burbank titan fasten ya seatbelts I'm bout to make ya meat melt That beer breath spittin' meat chunks at ya wig punk I fear less rather hear less, you niggaz is tryna pay less I make ya days less trippin' on the famous tryna get famous Nigga please
[Tall Cann] Ain't nobody fuckin' wit me, this side of the city Northside gangsta ride turn you liars to sissies You ain't bangin' shit so miss me wid ya bullshit comment You know me, I worship drama that was a curse from my momma So if you wanna bring it here boy Northgate in El camino I'm right here boy All day long all night strong we be runnin' the North And I can have niggaz from your hood, run on ya porch Ya little cowards keep the gun in ya shorts We keep the blunts and the ports to blaze up After ya spirit raise up you still think you can rap you need to give them days up It's gonna cost you ya cap takin' cheap shots at us So cuz toss me the strap and put these streets on hush Because they full of wack niggaz and they speak too much And now we can't have that because we G too much So I'ma end it on this fact nigga'll bleed too much Ya keep talkin'
