Search results for grip ya hips by 12 gauge

We've found 276 lyrics, 10 artists, and 51 albums matching grip ya hips by 12 gauge:


Albums:

The Appalachian Twelve Gauge Massacre (Brody's Militia) · 12 Gauge (12 Gauge) · Shake Your Hips (Joan Osborne) · American Hips (Jim Campilongo) · Hips Don't Lie [Single] (Shakira) · Charly R&B Masters, Vol. 4: Honey in Your Hips (The Yardbirds) · I.R.S. Greatest Hips, Vol. 4: The Remixes (Hutchinson, Hutch) · Move Your Hips (Havana Funk) · Booty Hips (Crazy Al Cayne) · Hips Don't Lie, Pt. 1 [Maxi Single] (Shakira) – and 41 other albums »


off in a silent rage
Fish tilled back to the Ritz with my 12 gauge
Gat smoking, I ain't joking
Left them fools on the ground face with they heads
wear a vest
Niggaz head-huntin' nowadays, floatin' through the West
Runnin' up with 12-gauges, semi-auto Tec's
Hollering, "Break yo'self, come out yo'
A 12-gauge street sweeper with the circular clip
Quick to let projectiles fly, you die
And watch your fat moms cry - bull's eye

(I cramp your style
With
to advance, I'm sorry for the holes in
your hip
Son, It's the way of the street merchant, live by the laws,
die by the rules
My gleam play the part
from the ghetto nation

Out on the lawn, ya strip the car down
And you're sippin' corn on the porch
If the neighbors complain, open up the 12-gauge
Shut
bloody, and tattered lying on the pavement
Nothing can save ya, when I'm in a homicidal rage
Nut up, and then start unloading the 12 gauge
Sawed off pump in
muthafucka pulls out a deuce deuce
Little did he know I had a loaded 12 guage
One sucker dead, l.a. times front page

'Cause the boys in the hood are
raised by the plot, product of the hater
The gauge and the glock, and I keep a blade
I ain't afraid if it pop, the gauge still a gun
Married murder one,
shoot or get shot
I'm raised by the plot, product of the hater
The gauge and the glock, and I keep a blade
I ain't afraid if it pop, the gauge still
the coffin
And uhh, follow his grave,
Follow me murderous gauge
Follow me murderous ways
Steadily pumpin' as me killas kill ya
Pop more ah silencer,
Pop
pass, couples, teamed with the knuckle clash, fast
Rain, hail, snow, sleet, still bust that ass
Uppercut, bad, you in the grass slumped out and ya
couples, teamed with the knuckle clash, fast
Rain, hail, snow, sleet, still bust that ass
Uppercut, bad, you in the grass slumped out and ya faggot-ass man
a rage
And loaded up my goddamn twelve gauge
If the punk don't keep ya
I'll be forced to hit ya wit the street sweeper
Ya ass shouldn't a started no
whip, bags of grip

Doo-rags and clips, tag the strip
You had the chance to advance
I'm sorry for the holes in your hip
Son, it's the way of the street
Stackin' me some grip, playa can ya dig?

Blunt to my lips, gun on my hip
Rocks in my sock, pocket full of chips
Watchin' for the pigs, splitin' hataz wigs
breath of an mc
Feel me

A 12 gauge stage displayed wit all rage
Bet yo last dolla it will make front page
It lasted all night, Mcs filled the black
Some
The Honeybugs dug and licked the honey dew
The sun, the kiss, the funk for a bliss
The lips with the soul and some jazz for ya hips
The puff, the buzz,
gon' jump because it ain't gon' be no option
I'm totally contagious black rans the gauge ya language
Black thought aka, Larry Davis (huh)
Got rhymes
grab that 12 gauge
Cause that's the only way a niggaz gonna get paid
I'm on my way to my old bank
They know me real good and they don't think that I'd
please 
Just got served by little niggas on the 10-speed 
12 years old, got bumps they can't keep 
A straight killer, a fool, a lil' ass gee

God
To make a crowd jump like a 12-gauge pump
Servin lots of speedknots when I fuck with chumps
Size havin nothin to do with this matter
My name is like
grab that 12 gauge
Cause that's the only way a niggaz gonna get paid
I'm on my way to my old bank
They know me real good and they don't think that I'd
sawed off
12 gauge bullet spray
And the ambulance come to take your body away
You still a bitch, ridin' to the hospital
Keep lookin' for the doctor
You's a bitch
Trick ass, snitch mothafuca
Type bitch, sleepin' with the enemy, sucka
Don't let me catch ya slippin' in the darkness
We ain't friends,
nigga could do you better then I could do ya know
And juvenile from cross the street by the derby
Same nigga that used to be running with Rusty