Print

[Chorus] If you boys got beef we can Roll wit it In da club or da street we can Go wit it It don't make me none Blow for blow wit it Crack his head wit a gun I'ma sho split it [Project Pat] In Hollywood at the stop sign Watchin out for one time Clean on them things Niggas hate cause I'm bout mine I'm on that weed So the car's kinda smokey The glock's in the stash Cause I'm dodgin the pokey Its hard on tha street Niggas livin like a catfish A project killa, four kids and a fat bitch Try to flip e'ry quarter ounce Ain't no credit barred We accept cash, merchandise Letras de cancionesor ya ebit(EBT) card Like to start shit At the club we be flexin And we'll kill a bitch At these hoes we be beckin North North to the full My game they respectin A rope to the bumper You get drug by yo neck-in Don't come around here You'z betta reckin You get ya ass blowed off For playin and jeckin Down in this dirty Only real muhfuckas rule Hoes wearin flirty skirties Young niggas act a fool [Chorus x2] [La Chat] If there's some ana to handle I'm gonna take care of my biz I got a scope on ya body I'm aimin straight for yo wig I love to show out on hoes I love to cut up wit niggas These bitches always get wrong So I love pullin tha trigga And since you hoes won't learn I got some lessons to teach You betta call up the pastor He got a sermon to preach I ain't wit that arguin and cussin and fussin Bitchin and fightin I'm buckin choppas off top Committed to takin yo life'n La Chat a mac slash killa Only speakin the real-a I'm tryna let you know its on For you violate a nigga A bitch be quick to talk shit But do you mean what you say A real killa don't be talkin They just be on they way I don't think you wanna get down You boys ain't ready for beef There ain't nowhere you can hide I called out an APD This ain't game that ya playin These bitches comin up slayin I keep my ears to tha street So hoe you watch what ya sayin [Chorus x2] [Project Pat] They lock me up just like Tupac And I went platinum Layed it down for a calendar Now right back at em Took my game weighed it up On a triple beam Niggas rob, kill, murder, steal For that ghetty green U.S. Marshal at my folks house Wanna kill me dead Wanna see me in a pine box Bullet in my head Police mane I ain't did shit Why you hatin this Ghetto thugs love my rap songs They relate to this Swingin fists Knock ya eyeball Clean out ya face Shoulda known it was shit starters All in tha place Young niggas on that powder Gon off tha bay Sneakin tones in da club You could get blown away Its a muhfuckin clique thang Represent ya hood Slangin cane makin plenty change All to the good Smokin blunt after blunt Pound after pound Throw a dead body in tha trunk High weave ya down [Chorus] From Letras Mania