Lyrics:
Frightened by the tone of a phone in the dead of night
Then staring into darkness and praying till the morning light
The price already paid
A son
gonna
Him hear rounds from a Calico gun cocks
I was returnin' the favor
Why we even comparin' namе to name?
I been surpassed his and then somе
Who y'all
Yeah, yeah what y'all wanna do?
What y'all wanna do? C-l, ip, s-e, n-e-r-d
What y'all wanna do?
My coke money's in cleaners
Give it a fresh rinse
or bound to pop a mission
So if you got dogs, n****, let 'em go
If a mob f***in' truck right, let 'em know
We got the same guns that you got, but better
a notch
The whole game is being controlled by the Devil
Including hip-hop
I put it down for the chi-town
Holding it down
From ten-trey 2 rose
'cause I'm blinded by the Son
Okay, bred from the 6, I'm Jordan with the brand, son
Hail from the L.I., 3-1 after 6, son
Dodge a Tech N9ne like everybody
gremlin?
Buy some sticky, you got the pillow
Here go some Black`n`Mild style, split it down the middle
What`s that? That Oakland Crip? Nah it`s that
of a master
You never thought you'd be bodied by a bastard
A bachelor who backspin on breakbeats
Break necks of broke souls who hate me
Hate he? you can't
leng
My NP ting love sitting on the fence
My Enfield tings too wild
My N9 ting hold it down to the end
Yo, M got put in a spliff
Showkey got put in
home
As soon as the suns down you're stranded alone
But the sun don't shine here, they'll take all that you own
So by the time we're 14 we're already
down, and grabbin' his nuts
And on the other hand, without a gun they can't get none
But don't let it be a black and a white one
'Cause they'll slam ya
down, and grabbin' his nuts
And on the other hand, without a gun they can't get none
But don't let it be a black and a white one
'Cause they'll slam ya
the girl that I loved
So in anger I challenged his right for the love of this maiden
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore
My challenge was answered in
Red Chip Funk
Performed by Twenty-something DJ Franklin
Lyrics and arrangement by Raymond Francisco Quinton
Produced by Rabid City Records
(C)
the cookies by the pound n**ga
Smoke the gas by the ounce n**ga (yeah)
Roll it up and burn it down n**ga (yee)
I'm getting head on a private flight (suck it up)
like a 100 pair of them bitches I don't even know which ones to wear
Hahaha
Let's goooo
2020 I fucked around and I found my zone
You be repping by
violence was brung
Regulated and balanced the slums
Brought in a cat with a talent for guns
Click quick to silence a Dunn
Convoys of black limos
Employs
you ain't gonna what, hold up, (gun cocks) up it
Who fallin now, loga, tell me that
Who ballin now, broadas, flat necks
Spread it on down, with ya issue
in sum gold n I can show it
Tossed a couple os homie n told em hold it
He just came home down the road he bringin dough in
I only see a couple
like us, sad like us
Glad like us, up like us
Down like us, judge like us
Hate like us
Nevermind, that can be just you
This is a new chapter, new view
the type of n**** that got it and break down a key
Remember me? J to the A, are-you-L, E baby
Smell the beef, it continue to uhh, give em hell
Fill they
an a-hole, AK holes
Think face blows
And understand I'm talkin' money by the case loads
Gun off safety, I'm in safe mode
I will hold court until the case
dirt farm
And he was fond of disappearing on an eight day drunk
Coming home smelling like a low down skunk
And he said
I do like I say
Not like
you hatin we don't give a (FUCK, WHAT)
(Verse 2)
Tech N9ne got to pop it, hold the city down with the lock it,
Either flip a flow for the fun, if you
.jpg/300px-GNR_London_Stadium_2017_3_(cropped).jpg "Guns N' Roses")
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