Tekst Utworu

From Flatbush to Broadway Niggas shootin' up the ave in broad day Tanboys got that tan shit We got more quarters than the arcade Butterfly blade, face sauteed I laugh and then, rip off face And sew it on my letterman And slowdance on your carcass I'm rollin, I mean Ronin Life is just a car chase Bullseye on your third eye Red dot on your target Blood smear on your friends near Now your homies is shark baits Bullets in the diem, no carpe You copy? Like dub tapes I'm really bout that fetti, Pa Shoot a bitch over my bread like Remy Ma Peel off (vroom vroom) Now your city block Renegade living like a never seen the cops Everything stay schemin' and I've seen the plot When your words are your weapon you don't need no Glock When your words are your weapon you don't need no Glock Tanboys, Zombie bonded in blood metal slugs Blood runneth over Could you sip it any slower? Hold up hold up Row up Get your hoes up We gettin trippy Got four hoes with me They down to swallow Down a bottle of that tan juice Drop a bottle Get your head loose Brooklyn Them shots rang uptown That block game Make more money than cops do cuz the block fool Niggas ain't on my shuttle Niggas don't know that I come through with the snorkel Got the gun too and it rip through One one two Fuck fuck you Shootin niggas in threes Like Reggie Miller Zombie Game Man fuck yall niggas Juice be the name Got love for the green Came from the bottom Ain't never gone aim Bomb on you niggas like Hiroshim I'm Mean Gene Blowin' hella green Got my seat back and my heat strapped And you layin' dead on the street smacked Peep that Smoke a blunt then relax (relax) Brown water, my tan juice 100 keep that loose on deck Chain so heavy might lose my neck Lose my life never lose respect I stamp down this papi talk I run the town your papis walk No cosign (nigga fuck that shit) She tryna chill? Nigga fuck that bitch (Spanish) Maricon gran puta Like a barracuda Eat the pussy up, heart jumpin' out her hooters SSI so to find my nigga Luca Loco 730 fuckboy I make a nigga locked up like a pump fake You won't electrocute of that duct tape Go roll, see, smell; Serve Colgate That's blanco, color coordinate A dead witness is a cold case, put new dope in that old vein) Ignore the pain, we the New, New York In this old game, yall rappers look pale Learn to survive since Oregon Trail I'mma just win never tie or trail This nigga pussy leave him holy like the grail Picture me scared, frame hangin' off a nail Nah not me I'm the one, not two, so high I see three Like Paul
Writer(s): John Farrar, Antonio Lewis, Dimitri Simms, Nathaniel De La Rosa, Erick E. Elliott Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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