Текст песни Project Pat f La Chat - Roll Wit It
Project Pat f La Chat - Roll Wit It слова песни
(Chorus)If you boys got beef we canRoll wit itIn da club or da street we canGo wit itIt don`t make me noneBlow for blow wit itCrack his head wit a gunI`ma sho split it(Project Pat)In Hollywood at the stop signWatchin out for one timeClean on them thingsNiggas hate cause I`m bout mineI`m on that weedSo the car`s kinda smokey The glock`s in the stashCause I`m dodgin the pokeyIts hard on tha street Niggas livin like a catfishA project killa, four kidsand a fat bitchTry to flip e`ry quarter ounceAin`t no credit barred We accept cash, merchandiseor ya ebit(EBT) cardLike to start shitAt the club we be flexinAnd we`ll kill a bitch At these hoes we be beckinNorth North to the fullMy game they respectinA rope to the bumperYou get drug by yo neck-inDon`t come around hereYou`z betta reckinYou get ya ass blowed offFor playin and jeckinDown in this dirtyOnly real muhfuckas ruleHoes wearin flirty skirtiesYoung niggas act a fool(Chorus x2)(La Chat)If there`s some ana to handleI`m gonna take care of my bizI got a scope on ya bodyI`m aimin straight for yo wigI love to show out on hoesI love to cut up wit niggasThese bitches always get wrong So I love pullin tha triggaAnd since you hoes won`t learnI got some lessons to teachYou betta call up the pastor He got a sermon to preachI ain`t wit that arguin and cussin and fussinBitchin and fightinI`m buckin choppas off topCommitted to takin yo life`nLa Chat a mac slash killaOnly speakin the real-aI`m tryna let you know its onFor you violate a niggaA bitch be quick to talk shitBut do you mean what you sayA real killa don`t be talkinThey just be on they wayI don`t think you wanna get downYou boys ain`t ready for beefThere ain`t nowhere you can hideI called out an APDThis ain`t game that ya playinThese bitches comin up slayinI keep my ears to tha streetSo hoe you watch what ya sayin(Chorus x2)(Project Pat)They lock me up just like TupacAnd I went platinumLayed it down for a calendarNow right back at emTook my game weighed it upOn a triple beamNiggas rob, kill, murder, stealFor that ghetty greenU.S. Marshal at my folks houseWanna kill me deadWanna see me in a pine boxBullet in my headPolice mane I ain`t did shitWhy you hatin thisGhetto thugs love my rap songs They relate to thisSwingin fists Knock ya eyeballClean out ya faceShoulda known it was shit starters All in tha placeYoung niggas on that powderGon off tha bay Sneakin tones in da clubYou could get blown awayIts a muhfuckin clique thangRepresent ya hoodSlangin cane makin plenty changeAll to the goodSmokin blunt after bluntPound after pound Throw a dead body in tha trunkHigh weave ya down(Chorus)