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Bone Thugs N Harmony

Shotz To The Double Glock

  hip hop  gangsta rap  midwest rap
134,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни Bone Thugs N Harmony - Shotz To The Double Glock

Bone Thugs N Harmony - Shotz To The Double Glock слова песни




All: Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, killa. Tony Tone: If you`re down to glide and slide on the Clair, then let`s ride. Tony Tone roll with Bone on the darkside, but when you come just bring your guns with ya. If your a busta niggas gon` have fun with ya. So, nigga, don`t get me wrong, my niggas swang them thangs, bang some brains, slangin` llello. It all remains the same. Wish: Step and you`re catchin` some buckshots. Murder one on the Clair-nine-glock-glock. Mo Thug, what`s up? Nigga, get drug, put `em in the mud, pop and I can`t stop, now. Niggas that I thug with kill. Pop to the chest. How does it feel? And nigga we peel caps. Pap. Fin to get your wig cracked back. Killin`, I`m buckin` `em down. I wish ya would try to get some redrum, bitch. Nigga, don`t test my hood. Tombstone: A first degree murderin` wig splitter, gravedigger diggin` a ditch, puttin` a bitch and them snitches in the pit, so don`t fuck with them niggas off the nine-nine--the foundation of niggas committin` the crime and murderin` every time. Niggas beware, `cause here come the Clair mobbin` like some soldiers. Watch me fold ya for actin` like somebody never told ya. So off we go, to the bloody road, time to bless some souls, with that nine shot, givin` props to the double glock. Flesh: Pump, pump, when I let my shells down. Hit a lick, now gimme the goodies, and nigga me dash. I reach for the gauge and mash, yell out "one-eighty-seven" and blast. Nigga, don`t test nuts. Your luck`s fucked. Your feelin` wrath of the Boneyard, thuggin` off with the Graveyard Shift, then comin` up for your ho card, bitch. Scandalous niggas dwell in the Clair, be servin` them chop chops. We rippin` them guts with buckshots, pop, pop. Me give up shots out to the glock-glock. Krayzie: You better believe that we runnin` this thug style: Krayzie, Layzie, Bizzy, Flesh, Wish, them wicked, now. We straight off the glock-glock. Run up, get your wig split now. East 99 follow me down to me street, buck, we thug on the darkside. Better have your pop, niggas be trippin` and flippin` as soon they get high. One-eighty-seven, you`re caught in a murder. Niggas up to no good. Po-po. Fuck no. They never could fuck with a thug-ho. Pop, pop, givin` up shots to the double-glock, glock. Mo! Hart: Nothin` but them killas, straight up thuggas, rippin` bucks of lead, and (Clair thugs) gaugin` pump eruptions, nickel trip and shut and fuck `em down, buckin` them coppers down, round after round after round. Bloody bodies, badges spreaded on the ground. Ain`t no sound, just the demons screamin`, "Rest in peace. I guess you got to suffer." Ready to dip, hollow point tip, got your wig split, and made your body rupture, hunt my victims on a mission, flippin`, livin` on a darker side, creepin` on your homicide. Let my nuts and my gauge hang low. Now, walk on by. All: [Boogy Nikke on the mic, right.] Boogy Nikke: Thuggin` through my thuggish-ass hood at night with my pipe. Thuggin` down the double-glock, tryin` to get my serve on, watchin` my back while six-five try to roll on. But one to the sucka`s head, and two up in his body. Now peep my creep. I keep the reefer smoke all up inside me. Layzie: We jumpin` up out from the hood. We bailin`. We thuggin`. We lookin` like crooks. The terror be fatal, ready to roll, now we willing and able, rollin` with Ruthless, bitch, better check my label. Murdered them, never come again where the scandalous niggas settle. Bloody nigga, trues be on my level. Eighty-eight through the ten-five is the soldiers` ghetto. Nigga, don`t take the wrong turn; you will enter the hood, and we`re splitters so cover your dome, out the cut, where the thugs and hustlas roam. Cleveland Browns, the Dawg Pound home, it`s on. Sin: Never get in the mix of a Clair player; you`re liable to get your wig split and dumped in a ditch, bitch, `cause them thugs sendin` them slugs, leavin` `em off in the cut in a puddle of blood, say what? Don`t make me go in my trench. Nigga, ya got me bent, all fucked up. Your luck`s up. Now you gotta get sent to your gravesite as John Doe for fuckin` with those... Gates: It`s them thugs runnin` amuck all night, but a slug up in you. The territory never divide, go nationwide with the buck, buck. So where you at? Where you at? I`m strapped and ready to snap and yank a nigga`s neck back. Split them (Kool-Aid) hats. Into the graveyard, but prepare to get (drugged up on the Clair to tear a round) `fore somebody gets stuck. You still won`t want some, bitch, but what the muthafuck? I wanna one to whammy with a TEC-9. Now, bitch, press your luck.

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