Текст песни Red Cafe f Clipse - Hitman for Hire, слова песни Red Cafe f Clipse

Текст песни Red Cafe f Clipse - Hitman for Hire

Red Cafe f Clipse - Hitman for Hire слова песни

[Red Cafe]Want a hit?Gimme an hour plus a pen and a padNow when go down.. y`allllWho won`t stop it?When them things get cocked who won`t pop it?Who`s trying to slow down the quick come up?Of a hitman, what wha what what[Verse - Malice]You can tell by the walk and by how the chain swingGot the kinda money most niggaz ain`t seenMost niggaz never pushed that machineWith 350 plus of pure horse powerAnd the fact that I push pure powderTo the point of no return is something I ain`t proud ofLet the plush jewels symbolize the loveFor the karats on the wrist I tend to spend just becauseMy life no less a dream at bestLured her loving from London from where the Queen restsPimpish me took her straight to Mickey D`sWhen she ordered her Royal wit cheeseShit, my whole clique pop Cristal wit easeAnd pop pistols wit even more easeShit, we do the shit that you can`t conceiveAnd I would hate having your mother grieve, motherfucker![Chorus][Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire[R Cafe:] You want work put in I`ll have that work put in[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire[R Cafe:] You lookin for a gangsta, I`m a gangsta[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire[R Cafe:] I handle my business, you don`t like me handle your business[Clipse:] I`m a hitman for hire[R Cafe:] You lookin for a gangsta, I`m a gangsta[Verse - Red Cafe]Uh, the boss of my days is back playaTalk greazy, we don`t call it rap playaEasy, Izzah they say I`m specialThey like the seven but, love me in that S CoupeMy boxes used to have horses, aightNow I`m soaking the Boxster Porsches, aightGot princess cut in my crosses, aightEnough to make them coppers nauseous aightNow I been shot in the neck, that was almost fatalNow I`m the Shoot-a-Homie never under the navelI`m in they hood like illegal cableShakedown, 911`s a joke in my townI`m bitch-nigga proof, 180 proof, liquor proofI got to make a nigga disappear, trigger poof!Coach said I wasn`t good wit my jumpshotSo I get upclose when I`m bucking my toast, Izzah![Chorus][Verse - Pusha T]Big city rolla, pind diamond rose goldLike strawberry Quik was spilled on his shoulderEGHCK! all soldier, top shots out chrome glocksKeep gun coupled, ghetto version of NoahHe will make your soul float, fuck wit the next manIn this hand I got the tool for making ghostsBeats to the corner, Ben Wallace in the postI send ya to the place where the coroners ya host EGHCK!Not living, I`d rather be choking off fumes in someones kitchenCounting money, but these niggaz won`t keep their distanceSo I let these nines assist themSee my - presence covers the block like a duvetHaters trying to guess what you weighPusha gives a fuck what you sayI make corners tumble like Cirque du Soleil[Chorus][Outro - Pusha T]Uh yeah, Track MastersShakedown, Red Cafe wit the ClipseUh uh, yeah, we them hitmen for hire

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Red Cafe f Clipse - Hitman for Hire
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Red Cafe f Clipse

Hitman for Hire

Текст песни Red Cafe f Clipse - Hitman for Hire

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