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Текст песни Dom PaChino (P.R. Terrorist) f Just Da B - Victims

Dom PaChino (P.R. Terrorist) f Just Da B - Victims слова песни

[Intro: P.R. Terrorist]Not enough liquor, manGo to the L.Q. or somethin` manThis shit is crazy right here, yoThe fuck... Terrorist shit, bitchYo, yo, yo[P.R. Terrorist]Rap`s so vicious, attack tracks like bats on bitchesI`m sorry captain, but I be clappin` snitchesBury a bastard in digits, rap for richesPeel a cap back for my life, and my little missesBig bushes from a seldom, seen dreams you choose to followEither it`s soul or the slugs, and his toast was hollowThey part team will follow, surround the enemyAnd talk about the shit tomorrow, while I`m loadin` my cargoStamp the barcode, on the CD`s and ship `em out lovelyBefore the bootleggers try and dub meCame a long way from nothin`, and I still got a long wayWho would of thought some day, would of been makin` musicCould of been all up in your pockets, rock it to your eye socketDon`t knock it, please tell your man, don`t cock itChances is slim, nigga take a glance at your kinI`m countin` one -- any more seconds is the end[Chorus: P.R. Terrorist]I fell victim to the game (who to name, who to blame) (8X)When I find out I`m gon` make them feel the pain[P.R. Terrorist]I`m on the block like any manThe difference between and you, is I understandYou askin` questions, `what`s that shit up in my hand`Answer the questions, I fry that shit up in your pan, bitch-niggaUnderstand, I`m the P.R.T., Error is thisHis lyrics are unique and his vocals are crispBang that shit in your jeeps, or in a block with the fifthSo, front on this, kid, front on thisSo I can let the shit that`s in my hand, light up my wristAnd let the shit that`s in it, like, eat through your chestI`m far from the best, I`m more like the worst, you`ve ever seenSpit green phlem from blunts, same colors my jeansAnd my boots`ll be brown, geared up with street dialLet the beats pound, cuz beef hound round the blockThis is hip hop, niggaz fuck around and went pop[Chorus 8X][Just Da Barber]I`m like the Phantom of the Opera, from the Little Shop of HorrorsIt be Da Barber, slash rapper, slash reporterI keep the revolver, tucked near the waist, don`t even botherWith the all-starter, who get down like Vince CarterGot it soul proper, cut your face like a chopperBe the heart stopper, on the drop-of-the-dime rockerGot it locked for all the Pradas, stash box under the rockKeep a hard glock for hard knocksSo when the ball drops, I lick off four shots for four copsBounce outta state, open up four spotsMore props to game, blocks to claimGrown my own weed crops, spots the name[P.R. Terrorist]Knowledge to gain, Terrorist and Just re-aimAnd when find the muthafucka, we gon` make him feel the painI feel victim to the game (who to name, who to blame

Другие песни Dom PaChino (P.R. Terrorist) f Just Da B:

Dom PaChino (P.R. Terrorist) f Just Da B - Victims
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