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Текст песни Brotha Lynch Hung f First Degree, Ice-T - Secondz A Way

Brotha Lynch Hung f First Degree, Ice-T - Secondz A Way слова песни

(First Degree):Shit done changed, the strip got biggerTo make my ends I got the wheel and the triggerI get my swerve on with the 80 P liquorThe liquor bring out the nigga in this niggaGot me huntin` with my musket, barred down with substanceBringin` my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clustersI`m still givin` birth to perfect joints, I keep it steadyStill mixin` up with skeet sours, I like them heavyHeavy`ll put a little bass in your voiceYamps choice, no Rolls Royce but I keep it moistI keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin` that costly shitBossy bitch think she too flossy to tripI`m First muthafuckin` Degree, not your average, I`ll have your boulevard hoppin`Poppin` off when a baller pack a package of suckin`Fuck you fuckin` up duck, stuck like Chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunkAs we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoonsFools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten, they still don`t listenI...I got pot that`s hot to trot, can`t stop, won`t stopI got Lynch Hung in my backseat sniffin` for copsI receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text timeSo ya`ll go home, light the smoke, it`s relax timeChorus:Now I apologize for smoke on my mindI been workin` hard and I got to unwindAbout the J.O.A. stayin` in my brainBut I`m seconds away from goin` insaneNow I need to lift away(Lynch):Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunaticMan, they must be high cuz they really don`t know who they fuckin` withI used to have them all bombed outDrink Alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped outI got the chop out, no doubt, cuz if it ain`t about rappin`, gunplay`s gon` happenCuz I`m tappin` at yo` window, off that Indo, more sacs than SantanaBetter check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your videoCuz I`m not that pretty, but in the bedroom I`m criticalYou got your chance, now useHit you with the Loaded album, coutesty of Siccmade MusicEvidently you got something against meDon`t you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of Indo, Killafornia`s bestPlayer haters die a slow death, slow deathCHORUS(Ice-T):I don`t wear no Chuck Taylors and don`t sag my pantsBut I still lift the switch and make this 64 danceMore niggas with me now than I had in the hoodAnd they down for whatever and that`s all to the goodWish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? Baby, duck!What you wanna do now, ya bleedin` from the floorNigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no moreThat`s how I`m coming 9-6, bitch, rich and madHoes in bikinis, rag Lambroginis, overseer runnin` mad streetsCreepers with beepers and stash spots for glocksAnd under car Escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrainNiggas go insane, tryin` to get the greenI`m just surviving on the streets with my peepsAnd I`m livin` for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeahCHORUS

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Brotha Lynch Hung f First Degree, Ice-T - Secondz A Way
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Brotha Lynch Hung f First Degree, Ice-T - Loaded
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