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Mr.Serv-On
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Time To Check My Fetty
作詞:Craig Lawson, P. Miller, E. Smith
Huh, it's like this here player, ain't no rules in the ghetto It ain't really 'bout the dollar value, it's 'bout the principle A life ain't worth nothing, any nigga come shizz out on mine You hear what I'm saying? I'm gonna handle that I'm gonna show these motherfuckers, I ain't playing That's the American way, I mean I'm kicking up crack houses Knocking motherfucking doors in, 'cause I gotta get mine
Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you
Went half on a key with my partner Mr. Serv On Eighteen oz's add up, nigga that's half home Open up shop on six and Berone street The fiends walking around, every nigga out there know me Hear them on the beeper, nigga, it's on
I done sold sixteen, I'm on my way home Two came up short, somebody must be smoking P grabbed that age K, nigga we ain't joking Bullets got no dis name, a pound and back of that good cain 1997, [unverified]the dope game
Some call me Frank Nitty 'cause I ain't taking no shorts I'm aiming that beam at your motherfucking heart Let the windows down on my green Eddie Bauer A 187 for this crystal white powder
So Serv On, cut those lights off and creep That's when we put them cockroaches to sleep Cruise up drive to errata to the 3rd ward Professional execution, fuck a murder charge
Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you
Time to get your fetty, get your paper 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 Come short with the cream we going take you Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you
I'm paranoid, I can't sleep, I think my phone tapped Rest in peace little Jacob in the calliope got kidnapped Now I'm tripping on shit, I ain't slipping on shit We carry gats and shit, bulletproof vests in case niggas talking shit Wanna creep up on us killers, drug dealers Ghetto millionaire where niggas and bitches feel us
Fake niggas step back, jackers meet my chrome gat They kill my cousin fulling ghosts his never come back It's an eye for an eye in this dope game Niggas are losing their life living that heroin and cocaine I trust nobody but my nickel plated Nino Have you seen her, fuck with my greens nigga you going meet her
Meet your maker, one way ticket to Jamaica Now your bitch with me, and I'm a fuck her, then break her Ain't no rules in this dope game But don't get high on your own supplies, man But if you fuck with soldiers you coo coo for cocoa puffs Cause niggas in my hood losing their life for furl and cooked rocks
Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you Time to get your fetty, get your paper Come short with the cream we going take you
Hit the block in the purple caddy, got you bitches calling me daddy Got some mountains in the trunk, nigga they going faster So what the fuck you want? Slanging them green birds and lemon drops Pop a pound of that Cali green serving fiends Got 'em fat like fifties, which one of you niggas trying to short me
Big Mo take me to the calliope, so I can see Slim Hit the desert eagle and pay these bitches like a candy painted regale Now I'm ready to set shop like Buggsy Seagel On the parkway you bitches gonna die my way Call my nigga Cujo, it's going down, check my fetty nigga
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