Down Foe My Thang
(专辑: Creepin On Ah Come Up - 1994)
[Layzie] Creeping up outta the
woods, gotta give love to my hood Smoke, and I
choke, and I
creep on a
come up Niggas be tryin run up, but I
bust, and they drop to their death Now they done up. Gun up, hunt my blunt up Creeping 'til sun up, feeling slightly shady Call me lightweight crazy, number one nigga little Layzie Nigga don't wanna fight running deadly thugsta soldiers, dropping them thangs Bone done told ya. Testing nuts, so a
nigga gonna have to show ya Faded a
nigga that stepped up. Let's slip in some shit See 'em alls just stood up then put a
foot up that ass had to blast that click-click Sprayed the
gauge, all cocked, and ready to spray down to the
pave Putting them souls up off in them graves dwell in Hell, they'll all lay slayed Amazed, must I
blaze. It's insane when I
take that bud to the
brain Toke, choke, holding me smoke until-a me strained, feeling no pain Better be packing your weapon, 'cause my shit is kept And I'm ready to let loose sawed-off hanging dangling up under the
trench, fin to blow that chest But you shoulda wore a
vest, fool, 'cause the
Bone don't front Nigga check or get wrecked Got Flesh on the
set, with his finger on a
TEC Loc'd out with the
khakis and high techs Respect them St. Clair thugs hustling drugs, gotta make that money, man Rap be the
thang, and the
fact remains that we owns that rap game Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang Bone be me gang [Flesh] We running with no hoes, and the
bigger Bone that's known for getting his swerve on and kicking it on the
stage (Off in the
rag), getting my serve on So, leave 'em alone. They come They need to be shown that Bone done chrome, blown Lay slugs up in to them domes, so go on You'd rather go run a
ho check, if you wanna test nuts with Flesh I'm feeling to lynch ya, mo murda You're running up eye to eye with death Praise the
Flesh, now nevertheless you're taking a
loss and this slug snuffed up, and dumping the
body up off in a
coffin Remember the
vow said a
preacher, me teach 'em (winnin'/greetin') 'em with me nine, running with thugs And hustlas and murdering 'em every time Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang Bone be me gang [Bizzy] Remember the
Ripsta, sinster creeper reaping up that set with a
street-sweeper Gotta take a
breather from sipping me liter Ripping that flesh when I
sneak with a
meat cleaver When I'm in me smug, never the
studio thugsta Buck 'em. Buck 'em. Motherfuck 'em Thug never done bluff and fuck them bustas So back up off me. No stack won't let me slip When a
nigga start to step, the
weapon, put 'em in the
graveyard Bitch, better buy your vest, then test Rest, the
Ripsta Quick to pick up the
hollow points and put 'em up in your brains, nigga My little nigga, Mo! Hart, my bigger nigga, Sin, dash fast Get up with the
block at last blast they ass, pass cash, then stash Me can killa for free for homies and family Tell 'em to see me, that realer nigga, the
Ripsta, put 'em in rivers It don't stop. Drop P's to the
SCT's and double glock. Pop. Pop Here's the
slug from the
twelve gauge thug You don't want fuck with, no buck with, Rip's breaking 'em bustas Blood, me filling 'em ?
me murder. I
show no mercy Turn your back, clack back me gat, digging 'em in the
dirt, see [Krayzie] Get ready to duck, bitch, or get fucked up They never could fuck with me sawed-off pump Bitch, if I'm flipping or load my clip in, nigga, y'all all fucked Gotta make my money, slipping me pump in my trench, and then click it Now, nigga, it's ripping, steady clipping, not missing, thugging with me click And now Leatherface taking your life so ya best stay back Tossing the
rest in a
coffin, 'cause niggas be running up, talking trash Buck a
guard while walking past. Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thangs And I
claim and hang with Ts, niggas that make cheese for the
green leaves Gotta give peace, 'cause they swang these. Come, nigga, meet my hood And fulla nothing but thugs and hustlas: Sin never been no busta He'll stuff and buck-buck 'em and dump 'em, bitch Nigga, muthafuck 'em, Krayzie don't love 'em, put 'em to rest and run So the
po-po don't catch up--nigga can't be arrested One M-11 me sending niggas to hell, and you're feeling 187 Eleven dwelling better from the
cell, and nigga that pick up Mossberg The
quicker you to the
curb. Put one to the
temple, pump, to Mr. Policeman That's all you heard Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang Bone be me gang Bang, bang, bang, bang