Scarface

Scarface - You Don't Hear Me Doe lyrics

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(feat. DMG)



[DMG]

Call me psychotive but I'm bad, nigga yo!

And I'ma do ya bad, black

And when I come, I'm bustin up niggas to hear me, black

Ya should of never let a nigga see

if there was niggas and bitches and bitches and niggas that hated me

Huh, I waited for my date to come-of-age

and now I'm of-age I can't escape the fuckin front page

So I guess that nigga D is up to hit again

I kicks the funky shit and coke, and stupid like I'm Gilligan

I'm P, supposed to hit a lick for a jack

The only thing I gained is the pain of niggas comin back

Nigga lookin for they shit, aggravated and pissed

Niggas they can't fuck with my clique

I'm here to break em off for chunk

A D-E-A-T-H-L-Y, a motherfuckin punk

And I be rollin with the brass

Don't answer with the ziggers in your hood, he break your neck to roll a

pass, nigga

Don't even stop to say 'Whattup?' cos I bust for the fuck

And pay some quick to light a motherfucker up

Next time you stop me on your block, I hope you leave the place

or be the next to meet the Lord face-to-face

Nigga, I ain't the one to take no bullshit

Cos see a nigga like the D is game to empty out the full clip

So when I come for ya, act like ya know

Sittin motherfuckin smooth to the curb but you don't hear do'



[Chorus:]



I'ma bring ya to ya asshole (uh)

Do it like the G-to-O (yeah)

Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do'

(But you don't hear me do')

Bring ya to ya asshole (uh)

Do it like the G-to-O (yeah)

Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do'



[DMG]

It's time to fuck em up, here it comes, BLAST, nigga!

Thump to your chest and they comin out your ass, nigga

I grew apart, livin my life as a criminal

Niggas G to kill but still I see that you don't hear me do'

So I'ma serve it to ya fat, hit the deck, mate

Hit the deck mate, call me Flipper when I checkmate

D-um divertin nine, Tre-9, full Glock, Glock

My Glock makin sounds and it don't stop

So nigga pass the swisha quick

and I'ma blaze til the motherfucker burn me off my fingertips

Cos, see a nigga gotta saty high

I try to smoke til I can't smoke and then I won't smoke

But still I got my fingers on my shit

and click, click, click, ya die, die, die, ya dead, bitch!

You tried to test the wrong nigga, be a tested

Straight from St.Paul but clockin G's down in Texas

Some think I'm talk cos I play it cool

but I ain't the average motherfucker, I do the shit that niggas won't do

Huh, like pistol whip a woodie for his bank

Then after that I gate and grab his bitch and do the same thang

And I will pain up the asshole

Collectin grips on my drips as I stroll but you don't hear me do'



[Chorus]



[DMG]

Ain't no mistakin what I'm bringin, you motherfuckers still ain't had

enough

So I'ma continue to break you off for proper ass chunk

May it be 9, may it be a gauge, may it be a shank

Any way you come I'm in your motherfuckin shit, mate!

Huh, a nigga bustin caps, smokin fires

quick to bring it to your ass and keep on goin til your ass die

And it ain't no runnin down dem backstreets

cos I got slugs to catch em with Carl Lewis on the track meet

Huh, and still you wanna test a nigga so

Audi 5, nigga, hate to see ya go but you don't hear me do'



[Chorus]



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Author: ?

Composer: ?

Publisher: ?

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Language: English

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