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Текст песни Brotha Lynch Hung f Phonk Beta, Zagg - On My Briefcase

Brotha Lynch Hung f Phonk Beta, Zagg - On My Briefcase слова песни

(Lynch):Now on my briefcase was some crumbled weedA pack of Saravegas and a 24 ounce O.E.Might as well skeez these couple of hoesIn my 69 Malibu sittin` on trues and voguesFor days you might have seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoesWith some you can`t see me tint on the windows Indo syndromeSmokin` it up, not givin` a muthafuckin` fizuckSold the cut, my ex-hoe said that nigga`s sqautin` what?Got at the homie Carl, and got some of that bombHad me so fuckin` high I got off like VietnamDead bodies and bitches clits simmerin` in the crock potAnd the shit don`t stop until my muthafuckin` chronic or high dropIt`s just that insane type of thang, let the Mac rain guts in the drainSiccmade niggas they make the world go roundAnd if you fuck with Siccmade Music you can get your ass gunned down(Phonk Beta):I had a homie who stayed up in Alaska, used to transfer flights over NebraskaAnd flew me back about a ounce of that Alaska Indica weedAnd out of the whole zip possessed one seedHad it wrapped real tight all up in cellophaneCan`t have the K-9 dogs smell it, manIf only you saw what I was seein`, the buds was almost pure white, not greenHad to be one of those one hitter quitter dome splittersThat`s the type a tweed that makes you wanna fuck your baby-sitterI roll a fattie, when I roll this fattieNiggas`ll be all noid wonderin` why they lookin at meBitches have the nerve to say my shit ain`t bombBut it`ll have your lungs burnin`, like your puffin` on napalm(Zagg):I wipe that sweat up off my forehead, I`m off the cuscheLay back and take a comfortable hit, with a Q-tip, it`s splittin` my lipsAnd my dome stays split off toothpicksI hit a lick with a quickness, dumpin` dead bodies in ditchesAppreciate the fact, come correct, cuz I could be viciousSuspicion, comin` up on recognition I`m creepin` up from behindWith a 12 gauge, non-fiction, I`m all prepared to go for mineSo step in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real baseWith a machete I`ll slice your neck just like them Jason casesMurder traces, but I ain`t pinned cuz there`s no evidenceSlight scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can almost sense the essenceWhat`s the lesson? Get tested, don`t come if you can`t come correctIt`s that West Coast shit for life I don`t know what you expectedI`m reckless, nevertheless I`m a pimp in a bulletproof vestPuttin` it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step down50 caliber rounds, I`m runnin` through your whole townBuckin` em down like Doom set on deathmatch with the BFG-9000 cartoon

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