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[Intro] Southside [Waka Flocka Flame] You decide, tuck in yo' pride I ain't waitin, I ain't got no patience Raised by the Grove, I ain't got an education 24/7 shorty, fuck a vacation Wak's a real nigga, why you goin to the station? Damn D-Mars why these fuck niggaz hatin? Can't replace, why God had to fake 'em? Free my nigga Moe, 25 he facin Lafayette, Grove Street, that's my nation Hoes on point, never losin concentration New black 'rarri got a nigga tryin race it Fresh 'fro, gives a simple wave to the Haitians Silver rotation got a nigga on point Haste with the case, when the shit gon' stop? Run up on me click click click pop (Pop pop pop pop) Pop, many body drop I'm the Brick Squad crop, the crowd real Waka Flock' Man you rag, dude you go hard (what else?) I am Brick Squad, crowd yell out SQUAD (and) I'm livin it, hell I'm only scared of God [Chorus] Letras de cancionesS-suicide paint (den) suicide rims (kill 'em) Suicide loud, I got them suicide friends (stankin) Suicide bitches they'll kill for a nigga (ugh) Call it suicide, run up on me fuck nigga (pussy) Homicide purp (den) homicide vert' (kill 'em) Homicide yo' ass and put yo' ass on a shirt (stankin) Homicide ice, homicide life (ugh) Homicide yo' kids and yo' motherfuckin wife (GUCCI!) [Gucci Mane] I'ma rich man sparkin, a rich man coughin Dead man walkin, dead man talkin I'm the man with the grams, get your bags, get your weight Call me baker man, cuse I can bake a cake (it's Gucci) Drop top 'rarri, called the headless horseman Cooking up babies, call the shit abortions Roamin through the 6 like a motherfukin orphan Like Vick I killed your road dawg and put him in a coffin When it's on again, grab a tote again, no pad or pen, I gotta win BSM and 1017, my whole Squad be goin in Suicide is a homicide, I smoke so much my brain is fried (Ferrari Boyz) and Ferrari toys, pullin up lookin like the Gotti boys [Chorus] [Wooh Da Kid] Doors go up, we just call it suicide I ain't playin, I'm just prayin it's a homicide It's 1017 that means it's time for BSM Bread to win, that's on Pop, Joe the Boss, and Bim Test what? Test that, test this Your bet your real lab rat I'll let her test dick Running with the (Cannon), I ain't talkin (Nick) I put 7 on your chest like M dot Vick Murder, nigga, murder, nigga Real short fuse, I hurt a, nigga Wood Da Kid, Wooh Da, King I'm married to my strap and I don't need a ring [Chorus] (Merci à joachim josué pour cettes paroles) From Letras Mania