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(feat. Yukmouth) [Yukmouth] Je je jeah, nigga! ugh It's a Mob Figa event My nigga J. Klyde Ya bitches Ho up , or blow up ya stank bitch Jeah Yukmouth in the mutha fuckin' house ya hoes, SHEES! Jeah Pop ya colla and ya chain nigga What! What! Jeah! [Yukmouth] We getting' it, the magnificent 20 inchin' it, conceded Only in the model bitch I'm interested Weeded Splif after splif we smoke infinite Blingin' Chained to my dick and shit Pop Crys ridiculous Flow like terrific Rippin' it, spittin' it Fuck all your written shit Letras de cancionesHere's your death certificate Yuk fucks 'em up on some different shit Make bitches shave from they tits to they clitoris Make the innocent college bitch eat the licorice Crash the Jag [AHHHH!] Next day flip a bigga six King of Oakland but not on no Jigga shit This Regime life bitch niggaz witness this Oakland to Pittsburg smokin' herb In mink coats and furs Niggaz slang hydro and birds In Cali fuckin' video hoes and center folds But still retire rappers like Arsenio Shows nigga [Chorus: Rydah J. Klyde] Fly gangsta how you get so fly? Them other birds go hard when they try They look sloppy what is it a carbon copy? You the nigga boy I ain't gon' lie Coochie in Gucci, Channelle Louie and oouie Got diamonds in his mouth I stared when he spoke to me He probably buying cake Trynna get me to buy his type He fly away I hope he come back to me Fly Gangsta! [Rydah J. Klyde] Yo I'mma let the hatters do them My neck and wrist I draped it Untouchable, M-O-B Figa affiliated Or how I feel to make it out the roughest of times Grandma raised me and my cousin, three sisters I grind Some years later She at the school I had no shine And half the time the clothes wasn't even mine But in do time Junior high, '89 Me and Brittle started to grind See who got free waps from E-Y-T Swann had bomb He scored from Fat Rat Early 90's grimy boy we at that My pockets got the mumps For real work off in my backpack Cross cords and silk shirts got me missin' every class Now she flirtin' Winkin' the lashes I'm too high to catch a pass I'm getting' money bitch [what] I ain't got time Shit unless she trynna grind for a fly gangsta in his prime Keep ya eye on me And quarter ounces ridin' from my project buildin' I'm livin' grimy lookin' like a million Watch me [Chorus] [Rydah J. Klyde] Now I'm slidin' through the night In the same shoes I could have died in A hundred times count my blessin's Pick my nine see the times change In sub stations in the housin' I'm in my [?] bumpin' 11/5 browsin' With thousands in rubber bands It's dirty money from the gutter man The block is crowded gettin' cluttered man Who is this mutha fucka Gem? You know him? He housin' high speed Hittin' gates Scuffin' the shit out my Nike's Or maybe in my zone at home writin' I got a plan to blow Stick up money and grams is movin' slow I spread my wings Got my weight up Now the hatters they know Cuz when a nigga havin' paper it show Birds of the same feather fly together We make a nigga wanna have his cheddar Who got ya gritting in the coldest weather? You goin' hard and you gettin' better The F-L-Y to the seventh letter In any weather I'm Fly Gangsta Bitch! From Letras Mania