Public Enemy
Public Enemy - Paid songtekst
Je score:
VERSE I (MELQUAN) Spinach flips my lips Sit on top of crystal bottle tips Sippin ready to flip do a hit On a rapper that a serpent Counterfeit criminal fakin jacks Luxury in his raps not facts If a camouflage large niggas Keep it on the low black No raps or Kodak just stacking cheese Freezers packed Full of human bodies executed vicious Reputed business German lugers Lift spitting & twist just Flesh confronted nobody want it son I eclipse with flowin showing I’m wicked Lyrics murderin myths with No remorse a different flow continuous Blends with no resemblance Money & power till it’s vengeance VERSE II(KENDU) I caught you peekin around the corner Tryin to see if we left yet We staked out your shit last night Feeling the vibe for death To make you strangle on you blood fluid. You know it Sleep walking with the machete saying Them dogs Make me do it, true it Mr. Machete telling you bitches I’m ready Never nervous behind the barrel Trigger finger. Stay steady So buckle up Cause it’s the only way to survive the ride Down to the Y we havin a party inside I dedicated this to all you insects Who deep on buggin me Pushing my panic button, needin trauma Unit recovery My tracks be fat got them attracting like Crack Even P.E. be saying you bring that beat back Come one come all my shit be smoking like Echo sauna The underground went with digital Humpin around if you wanna So toe to toe or pussy to dick Head chicken heads practice on carrot Sticks Or let you doo doo hole spread eww Y’all niggers chill cause we went there too Change this shit from the ruffside And we’re paid… VERSE III (CHUCK) One of the seven they Couldn’t hang Stepped to the six The last brother alive Of the startin five-one of the ones But you look don’t acknowledge The mix with a quickness Suckers fall and crumble To the sickness(sickness) Of not baggin themselves Your lil ass go figure Why ya pants be saggin Stare at my audacity I ain’t from the city(strong 1) I ain’t from around here Freestyle what’s the use Record companies get the money Give you juice, and end up cutting Your ass loose-cut off While you style for free They talk wild for a fee Getcha ass souped While you never ever recoup Catchin wreck wit no check They’ll never give ya respect Ya blackself(my brother) Getcha self some real yelp (yeah) Accountant, sharp Businessman Who’ll sit down & show ya Instead a some rich bitch lawyer Who swear that he know ya-he don’t Know ya as long as Other folk in rap Got it made Fuck freestyle I wanna stay paid (paid)