Brotha Lynch Hung

Brotha Lynch Hung - One Mo Pound songtekst

Je score:

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
Vind dit lied op:
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Copyrights:

Auteur: Brotha Lynch Hung

Componist: ?

Publisher: Black Market Records, Inc.

Details:

Uitgegeven in: 1997

Taal: Engels

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