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RU: 0-9 А Б В Г Д Е Ж З И К Л М Н О П Р С Т У Ф Х Ц Ч Ш Щ Э Ю Я
EN: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Текст (слова) песни: Brotha Lynch Hung - One Mo Pound

I was rollin` through the hood one day
Thought shit den calmed down,
"Gang-bangin`" den played out by the years since I den been around
Ain`t talked to nobody from my block
Cause all my niggas is locked up
And it`s been all ever I seen wit a guillotine
So I was in the "Cut Supreme"
Fifteen grams and some "greenodine"
Ain`t seen a block nigga since
But now I`m off that kill green
(Mothtafuckas ain`t got no love for me)
(Niggas wanna put some slugs in me)
So I`m double 0 seven, murder redrum wit my three fifty seven
Brotha Lynch Hung, but the bitches call me Kevin
They try to make me think they close to me, but Neb`in [never]
You know I gots to (say high) stay high, keep recipts for alibis
And the meat they ate from them drive-bys ain`t mine
cause mine`s a supe` desguise
As I swoop the skies high off that buddha
tah mixed the cusche and the purple hairs
And it got me high
(Now I`m rollin on the river)
Labeled Mr. FedEx
(Cause them bodies I deliver)
Got to get to my next plot
Unlock the freezer get the meat for the "rocks" [rotweilers]
And heat the heat cause it`s the "nine-neb`in" [`97]
and it`s hot den a mothafucka
(All day everyday) I`mma stay loaded up, "krondike" in the trunk
And a pound full of James Brown
Cause I gots to get loaded so hold up soldier
[Chorus: 2Xs]
The count goes
(One more pound of smoke and it`s guaranteed to make a mothafucka
choke)
(Ain`t got no down ass bitch at my side
but I got some bomb ass weed in my ride)
Nothin but notches, booches
Fill my pockets, hit `em up everyday, gotta have my pay
The gaungay got me high now I`m paranoida den these booches
Filthy rich, I`mma take the loot
And the dig a ditch, tell your neighborhood bitch
to miss me with that hoe shit
Cause I`mma get this nigga when he surface
And that`s on everything I love, I gots to split his wig
Opened up the little blue packet, stung him like a yellow-jacket
Rib cage heavily padded, hit him with the automatic shells
Send him to hell express from his mailing address
We got his name, for sho`, then we went to the house and did that shit
I know I said I do it alone in the pass, everybody in the neighborhood
knew
somebody betta jack his ass up like a six-four impala
You floatin` on dirty water
Pack your shit up nigga like it`s on only you and your ?woda-goda?
Track your ass down, smoke your last pound
[Chorus 2Xs]
(If you smell any smoke it`s just me and my homies gettin` blown)
And I was late gettin` home, intoxicated
Fight with my old lady
she was comin at unreal, hit the blunt and now she`s animated
Motivate through you like a foggy mist
You can hold me in your chest-plate like that nitro hit
First Degree told me if the weed can toss
It`ll talk some shit, gotta get me an underspot
make me a Hemp Museum like B-Legit
I`m tryin to bump my head on the moon
Live so high up in the mountains eatin` snake meat, fried raccoons
With a attitude I need food to eat up
smoke a fat blunt on my couch with my feet up
Top notch program, DOS mode indo 95 upgrade siccmade
Stay paid til the day on the ground, I`mma lay, I`mma stay loaded up
In my trunk I got the blow you up and it`ll blow you up
And the count goes
[Brotha Lynch Hung sends out shout outs til the end]

 

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Все тексты песен: Brotha Lynch Hung

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 » Brotha Lynch Hung - Return Of The Baby Killer
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