Brotha Lynch Hung f Mr. Doctor

Season of Da Siccness

257 3 часа назад

Текст песни Brotha Lynch Hung f Mr. Doctor - Season of Da Siccness

Brotha Lynch Hung f Mr. Doctor - Season of Da Siccness слова песни

[Brotha Lynch]Yeah I could load a 9 up everyday, but whyMy locc`s told me homie make them tapesAnd keep that 24 block aliveBut if I feel I`m in need, I got`s to rideCarry a 9 for straight business, not just a sideMan it`s the night-mare, creepin up in the cutI`m hittin dice games, barbeques, no matter whatThe things I`ve seen`ll make ya throw upFlaunt your flag, shoot your gats, hit your dankWhere I`m from that`s how ya grow upMan it`s that wicked and 9 millimeterCarrier bein stereo-typed dailyYa got`s to feel me, foo it`s that babyKillas run around everyday that`s why I`m strappedYa heard it I got my own back-fadeOut into the `lac and hit the city of SacThem homies given me thatBut you got them fools that want a foe thenThey wonderin why I`m carryin me a 12 gauge pumpMan I ain`t no punkThe average everyday thug that`s how it soundsI`m defendin myself, and loadin that miliAnd leaving em layin[Chorus] X 4Deep down, there`s a place for hope[Mr. Doctor]I guess it`s hard to explain why I`m feelin how I`m feelinI guess I`m feelin sorrow cus my homies got some stealinAnd foos would say that it`s my fault I betSee cus I wasn`t strapped yo, but I can`t fuck my setHow could I know that them foos would blast?Later on, on my folksIt`s funny how this bangin`s got its different strokesI think about my loccs and how they made itThough I`m stressin from the factThey gotta suffer from a bullet holeAnd Mr. Doctor just don`t have hope loccIt`s only been a month, since my last down partner got smokedAnd rivals is deep, up in my city fooSince I`m on the underground team, I can`t have no peaceMy life is tore up so I guess I`m stuckYeah, I got my St. Ides, I`m turnin it upTo get drunk, then I post up on the streetWhile I say to myself, for the blockHomie rest in peace[Chorus] X 4[Brotha Lynch]They say that ain`t the way to handle that type funkBut now I`m loadin up the strap, smokin on that bluntJust cus the Brotha Hung is flag-upWhat that mean, I can`t ride?Why G`s up in my face, I`m bout to help them rideI keep a low pro, drink the 4-0And lounge until it`s time to goShinin up the forty-foRollin up the boogey-boo, indoAnd hopin if I should die, before I`m highThat they bury me in 50 pounds of chocolate thaiI got them homies from the south-side givin it up andThem homies from the east-side slangin that stuff andI`m right up in the middle tryin to hang on andTryin not to end up like them niggas doin time in the penBut then againI`m down for when the homies is ready to roll em upYou know, stick in a dark-blue cutAnd as I`m creepin through ya setTrip, don`t get caught up, shot upThe gardenblock locc`s, man we leave em layin[Chorus] X 4

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