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Текст песни DJ Clue f Memphis Bleek, Geda K - M.A.R.C.Y.

DJ Clue f Memphis Bleek, Geda K - M.A.R.C.Y. слова песни

[Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)(Word up!)Uhh..I`ve become accustomed to goin through customsPound in my pocket hollerin "FUCK THEM!" (What!?)I`m livin that life that you only talk aboutI`m fuckin them hoes that you only thought aboutI spend that money but you won`t spend aboutas much that I made off my last single outWhatchu think of that? Niggaz, y`all knowthat I kill niggaz slow when I live for this dough (Holla!)Got labels sick, I know they hate thatI`m makin they artists push them dates back (C`mon!)I don`t need tattoos to prove I pack toolsGo `head and act fool and become dog foodMemph Man, uh-huh, yeah that`s meSame nigga that don`t give a "basically"And I`m still smokin, it be like thatYa blunt went out, nigga relight that[Chorus: Memphis Bleek]I`m from M.A.R.C.Y.B.K. style, see Bleek how?I`m from M.A.R.C.Y.B.K. style, see Geda how?[Chorus][Geda K] (DJ Clue)Yeah..I`m finally put in the game, right where I should beAnd the gat laid right where it should be (Ha ha!)Violate, you be put where you should beHave your family and friends screamin "How could he?"Walk the streets with a body on his backRide around in a V with the shottie in the back (Uh-huh)And for y`all that swear, that I front for repOnly thing that I front is hoes and coke and clips of tefWith a co-d, that`s a, menace to the peopleYeah we sold D and made a livin off of people (Yeah!)Ghetto, corrupted us, and we taught ourselvesHow to add and scale plus bag and sellAnd how to, aim and shootand I got brain when the wrist lockedwherever the dot spot leave the tapeYou keep actin like you can`t die in a blazeand I let sixteen of `em dive in your wake[Chorus] - repeat 2X[DJ Clue over Chorus]New shit! Memphis Bleek!Geda! Marcy! Fresh out!(?) Tata! B.I.![Memphis Bleek] (DJ Clue)Picture me rollin in that five hundred BenzI got no love for you niggaz it ain`t no need to be friends (Clue!)I give a fuck `bout `em, no need to talk `bout `emHe act bout it, I let the fo`-fo` pound `emThe co-d`s, nigga no statementsJust shots, empty shell casingsNo prints, V`s no tintPhone, Sprint, Six, no chips niggaR-O yeah M-ARealist hood and clique nigga, comprende?You bitch niggaz know I`m focused right?You still catch M-E-M loc`n right? (Ha ha!)In the black V, wit the gat on my lapShovel in the trunk, go `head nigga, frontThis M dot E-M-P-H-I-S BleekCoppin out to a one to three, you bitch nigga![Chorus] - repeat 2X[DJ Clue over Chorus]Fat shout! Cuttino Mobley!Steve Francis! Houston Rockets!My nigga Chris Childs!LaVar Postell! New York Knicks!Word up![DJ Clue]DJ Clue! Desert Storm!Roc-a-Fella!The Professional Part 2!Ha ha!

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