D.I.T.C.

D.I.T.C. - Where Ya At? lyrics

Your rating:

(feat. Big Punisher, Milano)



[Big Punisher]

Aiyyo it's funny dunn

The two nicest niggas unite as one

Collide the sun wit the moon, BOOM!!

I leave you brighted from

My full of clips, hawk the world into hell when a bullet spit

Crucifix myself to the sun, now who you wit?

Enter my world of doom, consume fear and feel the panic

I ram a lightning bolt between the earth and moon

And curl the planets

I'm ?palanatic? wit lyrics spannin for galaxies

Battle me, mathematically, I'm givin your wisdom a cavity

Rapidly flowin, controllin the time

Flip over the line, I'm blowin your mind wit just a flow and a rhyme

I'm Hogan in his prime, strong and fast

You can bomb and blast, c'mon, you'll still be on your ass

It's satisfaction guaranteed

Wit Fiction like Quentin Tarantin'

Kickin your baddest dreams, shit you haven't seen

I have to be perfectly honest

You should have an anniversary to acknowledge the way I work the ebonics

I verbally vomit on how much niggas try to get us

With garbage lyrics, my style delivers it as the Outer Limits

I'm like the pyramids cuz every point is precise

Now you know me for life

Six Pun, Cuban flooded wit ice



[Chorus: Big Punisher] (Milano)]

If I ain't home wit my fam (Where you at?)

Stash crib, cuttin grams (Where you at?)

Hung wit my niggas and we're rollin and controllin, hold that!

If I ain't deep in some ass (Where you at?)

I'm in the jeep wit the stash (Where you at?)

Hung wit my niggas and we're rollin and controllin, baby!



[Milano]

Yo I camel-clutch mics, a truce gahzuntite

Guess I'm allergic when shit ain't done right

You spread disease while the vaccine is what I write

Couldn't avoid this, sit tight

All aboard ship, on my voy-age

Purple Explorers, seven warriors my aura

You tied a ? and boredom, Milan bring more than offer

High exalted, boned a Lazarus scultptor

You penny-weight style

While my piece alone around three pounds

I had to serve nerds, and throw it down, stuck for a reason

Laid up a whole season, pen and pad style 

Honeymooners like Jack Gleason

Blessin the whole reason

Until my niggas max out, hold the axe out

Whoever front, saw the procedure

All you thugs now wit misdemeanors

I seen ya'll in clubs, poppin Zima 

Fake minks wit ninety percent of it beaver

Thought you was killin em?

I played the back wit two dime Brazilians

Cogniac and ice buckets, puttin a slight chill to them

Rock platinum like I sold a million

Trapped on my island like Gilligan

Really, Manhattan niggas here, you gotta feel em

It ain't hard, sent to Parkwest Hall

Straight up the Malcom Boulevard

Wit no bars, I write scriptures

Me on beats is a fatal attraction when I give you the business

Caught a dough virus for spittin sick shit

Got niggas like "Who is this?"

On this '99 classical edition



[Chorus]
Get this song at:
bol.com
amazon.com

Copyrights:

Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

Details:

Language: English

Share your thoughts

This form is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

0 Comments found