Lyrics:
headlights turned off.
I'm 'bout to bust some shots off.
I'm 'bout to dust some cops off.
Cop killer, better you than me.
Cop killer, f**k police brutality!
currency get high off weed
Collect G's make my enemies bleed
When you see me n**** holla my set and watch 'em ride
Outlaw mother f***ers till we die
In
arrived. So, we got absolutely f'king smashed to
smithereens on the plane, right! Get's off the plane, staggers through customs, "Allright, excuse..." oh no,
up off me, ugh
[Master P]
Goin' pack me with a n**** with no bread
Nappy head, put chu' in a grave
Don't give a f*** about chu' n****s, piss
2:] "Here ya go."
[Pays toll]
[F2:] "Thank you."
[Begins to drive off]
[Toll Booth Willie:] "Hey! Hey! Honey! Would you like a receipt with that?"
wanted a good night (Smoking light bud with the dress blood)
With ya fam what up cuz; off that liquor strong (Got your light buzzed) (Nah)
Don't f*** with
And why do we call ourselves niggaz 4 life
Cause if we die we still gone? be some dead niggas.
You don't really think you're gonna get away, do
hits
They like to make it all soft that we pop s***
F*** that, I'll die before I let the hardcore go
Cause I'm a n**** from the G-H-E-T-T-O
I got
F*** 2Pac that n**** ain't s***
That n**** ain't from moherf***in' New York
That n**** be out there with them Cali n****s
Yo n**** man f*** Pac
b****es dat would lie for me (cum' on let's Ride)
How many n****z dat would die for me, die for me, die for me
Where the f*** my thugs at ready or not
on ya back
[Hook x2]
Yo, what it look like
You got crack what it cook like
You gotta track, what's the hook like
F is off the hook, right
We stole
Deine Patek siebzig Racks (wouh)
Aber gebe keine F's (let's go)
Guck' die Story meiner Ex (ey)
Aber gebe keine F's
Bandenchefs, Bandenchefs
And why do we call ourselves niggaz 4 life
Cause if we die we still gone? be some dead niggas.
You don't really think you're gonna get away, do
wanna die
I don't think he wanna die
The politician in a suit
I don't think he wanna die
The policeman that's why he shoot
In an alley getting high
Off
What you laughin at nigga don't get your b***h ass rushed
CHORUS
[Tray Deee]
As a child I was wild as f**k, and down to dump
And kept a sawed off brown
Tryda Take Mine's You Gon' Die Wit It
I'm Running The Streets Till I Die In It
Double F's On The Bag Wit c Pound In It
If She Leaving Wit Me Ima
Work Hard no days off
kan niet f*cken met die fake love
ik moest grinden, maar it paid off
show die mannen , what i'm made off
ben gekomen van
If you a bad boy
If you a bad boy then you die
Westside outlawz when we ride, get me high
They f***ed up when the rob me
Put another contract
cheaper than diamonds and pearls
Like my debit card I insert
I hate everyone I'm an introvert
F**k all ya n****s can die
F**k all ya n****s can die
F
out for that real U.F.O.
Watch out for that real U.F.O.
Watch out for that real U.F.O.
When you die tell me where you're tryna go
I know I'm crazy
it takes off this bihh here super geeked
D.I.E. somebody gone d.i.e. they ever play with me
In the streets f- the industry i never paid for features
Loose lips sink ships, so this is do or die
This is a letter from Shoestring to the F.B.I.
Backstabbers gone, so I guess you dirty cops are clean
You
get the doe f*ck sitting down why u n*ggas lazy being broke ain't it
And we're i come from u ain't safe these n*ggas die daily I keep 30 wit a stick
the ball
Niqqa i dont f*** with the damn fame
Dont piss me off with your fake smile
Dont piss me off with your fake love
Dont kill ma vibe ma niqqa
Dont piss
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