343 3 часа назад

Текст песни The L.O.X. - Bust Your Gun

The L.O.X. - Bust Your Gun слова песни

Shit is crazy.. can`t believe itHa, haha, oooh, shitWe don`t give a fuck about you frostin` ya hand (fuck),cause knockin` off these bricks then often yo` manThat`s the kinda boss that I am (why not),and I`ma play shotgun, smoke the pores make a vanHollarin` at you so deep and so sick wit` the gunsWhen I walk by the wake I want the cough in the stand (stand up)So hold up for one minute (what)You won`t catch me in the tub, in the whip,or the club without a gun in it,and don`t come through the strip, lookin` hard in the car, with ya motherfuckin` daughter and ya son in itLately I been missin` my fred, the roof pop (too hot), but feel me cause he hittin` the stairs, the truth popNiggaz think this album cuts (haha!)I`m like fuck it, I`m the nigga comin through the door wit two revolvers up (two `em),and I`m takin` all drama, and I spent twenty thou` motherfucker so I just got more problems[Chorus]You got`sta bust yo` gun, cause if you don`t then niggaz know you won`t they gon` touch yo` onesGot`sta bend yo` knife,cause if you don`t then niggaz know you won`t they gon` change yo` lifeAiyyo, who gotta my name huh? Who think it`s a fuckin` game (c`mon)Like yo` money can`t be found under the cane (y`know)Like yo` body can`t be found under the trainsLike this punk we`ll shatter apart your brain (bla!)I`ma thug wit` no scars, and no braids,but I could aim, and shoot through the heart or your shadesI`m too row, plus too quick on the gat (uh-huh)Hate water, but I leave you wit` a wills play-backI don`t give a fuck if all y`all go to the cops,and I don`t give a fuck if none of y`all gimmie my propsI got shit in my name and my credit is worseWhat`s to stop me from shootin` you first? FUCK YOU! (haha)I`m like tattoos, you forget that I`m there (uh-huh)To the gun fire perm your hairMiss you, and go strait through your moms rockin` chair,through her back and it ain`t stopin` there![Chorus] - 2XBounce my niggaz.. c`monSheek and S.P., rock, rock on (c`mon)Bust shots `til your glock can`t pop no more (hahaha)Let it down `til your top can`t drop no more (uh-huh)Hit you up `til your spirit where the Eagles fly (c`mon)Talk to me, if you really come back then you`ll die (c`mon)Make me believe, no shirt but still got some shit up my sleeveNo asthma, makin` it hard to breatheLet`s go, aiyyo Styles take this motherfuckin` mic from me, c`monAight.. aiyyo, P`ll tell it like story, just like a narratorYa don`t mean it, we snappin` it like the AligatorsOpen ya eyes so you can see what the drama meanI hit ya man in the cheek wit` a barber blade,and I`m in the first floot at the (?) ParadeForty on the weights wit` a fifty on the garcaradeAlways got the route, never had the heart to begYou ain`t seein` shit `til a slug rip a part`a head[Chorus] - 4X

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