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
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[Brotha Lynch]
Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but why My locc`s told me homie make them tapes And keep that 24 block alive But if I feel I`m in need, I got`s to ride Carry a 9 for straight business, not just a side Man it`s the night-mare, creepin up in the cut I`m hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter what The things I`ve seen`ll make ya throw up Flaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dank Where I`m from that`s how ya grow up Man it`s that wicked and 9 millimeter Carrier bein stereo-typed daily Ya got`s to feel me, foo it`s that baby Killas run around everyday that`s why I`m strapped Ya heard it I got my own back-fade Out into the `lac and hit the city of Sac Them homies given me that But you got them fools that want a foe then They wonderin why I`m carryin me a 12 gauge pump Man I ain`t no punk The average everyday thug that`s how it sounds I`m defendin myself, and loadin that mili And leaving em layin [Chorus] X 4 Deep down, there`s a place for hope [Mr. Doctor] I guess it`s hard to explain why I`m feelin how I`m feelin I guess I`m feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealin And foos would say that it`s my fault I bet See cus I wasn`t strapped yo, but I can`t fuck my set How could I know that them foos would blast? Later on, on my folks It`s funny how this bangin`s got its different strokes I think about my loccs and how they made it Though I`m stressin from the fact They gotta suffer from a bullet hole And Mr. Doctor just don`t have hope locc It`s only been a month, since my last down partner got smoked And rivals is deep, up in my city foo Since I`m on the underground team, I can`t have no peace My life is tore up so I guess I`m stuck Yeah, I got my St. Ides, I`m turnin it up To get drunk, then I post up on the street While I say to myself, for the block Homie rest in peace [Chorus] X 4 [Brotha Lynch] They say that ain`t the way to handle that type funk But now I`m loadin up the strap, smokin on that blunt Just cus the Brotha Hung is flag-up What that mean, I can`t ride? Why G`s up in my face, I`m bout to help them ride I keep a low pro, drink the 4-0 And lounge until it`s time to go Shinin up the forty-fo Rollin up the boogey-boo, indo And hopin if I should die, before I`m high That they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thai I got them homies from the south-side givin it up and Them homies from the east-side slangin that stuff and I`m right up in the middle tryin to hang on and Tryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the pen But then again I`m down for when the homies is ready to roll em up You know, stick in a dark-blue cut And as I`m creepin through ya set Trip, don`t get caught up, shot up The gardenblock locc`s, man we leave em layin [Chorus] X 4
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