AZ

AZ - Uncut Raw lyrics

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Peru, uncut baby, what?
 Life is a struggle, that's why niggas I know stay on the juggle
 Some hustle to double, others hug you to mug you
 Poverty-stricken, they even turn a church kid into stickin
 It seems sickenin, but what? Whatever makes the pockets thickin
 Fuck police and no remorse for the beasts
 that's lost on the streets, that pistol whip a priest for a crosspiece
 Some lost sheep, runnin thru strips, thinkin of top dealers
 Fillin Tek clips, wit 'cop killers' that could stop gorillas
 Shovin a stubnose in buttholes, I'm nutso
 skitzo, clepto, killin shit up throughout the metro
 My thug essence will always keep me plugged with drug investments
 Sketch my reference, takin papers considered preference
 And violations will lead to kidnappin, decapitation
 So what you're facin, is realism that's in activation
 Livin off land with five honeys playin my hand
 Me and fam, sippin off Guinness stout and eatin clams
 It's all part of plans, a vet chillin in Tamps, West and Stans
 Outta state connect, slugs, sex, drugs and grands
 Hook:
 What? For my Height niggas (Uncut)
 Trife niggas (Raw), 25-to-life niggas
 This is as, pure as opium, purified for street players to open em
 space, like three els laced with coke in em
 Shots awoken em, fake uniform takes the portion of
 six trips, to young clips and killers coachin em
 However though, fake ass niggas'll never know
 Cos my method's perfected, I'm movin sceptic and never show
 I'm soon to blow, stack doe, lay on the low
 While I'm sippin Cristal, I mess with Long Island and Moe
 A part of nature, me wan' acres in Jamaica
 Puffin exotic trees without seeds rolled up in leaf paper
 So exhale, cos if I don't live to tell
 then fuck it, if well, I'll see the rest of y'all niggas in hell
 Hook
 So all my good fellas, heroin, coke and weed sellers
 What the fuck cats can tell us if they ain't got bread to bail us?
 Happy to survive, I haven't seen it all, Peter pay Paul
 From the connivers to the livest, they crack fool
 It's all war, the streets are filled up with guns galore
 Plenty young for war, gettin their minds flunked and sore
 Yo dun, cock the 4.....
 Motherfuckers think we're playin, back em down
 Holdin niggas for high stitches, what? What
Get this song at:
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Copyrights:

Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: BEC, LLD

Details:

Released in: 1995

Language: English

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