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4:08 | 
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from High School High (굿모닝 스쿨) by Ira Newborn [omnibus, ost] (1996)
Dere's no time for dem future
Come short wit me 9 milimeter Body beater, doesn't pick up Fully automatic collar point beater, uhh (x2) Another whole fuckin clip and break down a nigga body, don't think I'm bad, no boxin and no karate Just a down ass nigga that you think you know But you don't know is that I like to see you die real slow So pull that motherfucker out and you'll be buried somewhere S-P-I-C-E-1 of niggas' worst nightmare I set the game from the killers I knew back in the past and I'm tellin you if you fuck with me it's a slug for your ass Ain't no more pilin up your faeces cos niggas be actin like bitches Pull a strap and don't use it, nigga that ain't smart I know some niggas that'll take that kind of shit to heart like me, bring it back e'rybody die Spread fireworks make it look just like the 4th July Have a sit, leave it laminated on the shelf even though I'd rather do the shit by myself *Why you wanna funk when you ain't gotta chance Don't make me have to make that call, aah-aah Why you wanna go and pull a strap up out'cha pants when you know you ain't gon' shoot at all, no no Things are kinda cruel on the streets Shit, ain't nobody really tried to fake me But it seems nobody wants to fuck with me Why is that? I had no son enemies I got rid of every last motherfucker for the simple fact I can't trust a Nathan in this motherfuckin outfit You come my way so ya have to die bitch I make em lay down, I gotta playground full of hardhead beanie-capped, triple fag goose wearin wanna catch me loose starin at a barrel Chances get narrow when I'm maskless, bearin thangs set to blast this Enemy provider, fool I'm a ridah wit a driver Keep the Uzi click switched on saliva Neither you or crew that you pumpin wanna see the Big Dogg about nuttin Flow-a-matic automatic nigga to my 9 Paper chasin, I'm heavy on the mine Every now and then a nut feels a bit dainty Hoes by the dozens they really can't stand me Swing my way you get your dome sprayed Nigga who wanna fucked around and became my best friend Every now and then I yell "Get the urge to floggy!" like every now and then I yell "Call my daddy 'Boss'!" *Repeat Eminate 'money over hoes', mistood a man named "Xena spokes and vogues" Go on a rampage, beanie, smokes and clothes Drunk as a funk, Wild Irish Rose Graveyard don't track, nigga might as well Put in some overtime, make that scrilla, get some el Late night, greedy gut, major clientel Money-hungry, same draw, same rapper will Blaow! Biddy-bye-bye-bye-bye S-P-I-I-I-I-I love to do a d-d-d-drive-b-b-by Reach out, reach out and touch a motherfucker with my nickel plated chrome, have you foamin at the mouth When I fill your ass to the rim like brim I got slugs for you, one for you and one for all of them How could you play me like a bitch, I ain't no sucker I put slugs in nigga's arms, chests, legs motherfucker *Repeat Why you wanna go and pull a strap up out'cha pants when you know that you ain't gon' shoot (x2) |
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4:35 |
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from Tales From The Hood by Christopher Young [omnibus, ost] (1995)
Evil lurks in the mind of mad men
I have to call Spice 1 to put in work [Spice 1] Yeah straight motherfuckin East Bay killa in the house Spice motherfuckin 1 [blam] That's how you do it! You just mobb up on a nigga and shoot him in his MOTHERFUCKIN HEAD And drag him out the car, and get your MOTHERFUCKIN mobb on Yeah.. motherfuckin G shit jumpin off tonight Motherfuckin fire, beotch!! Kill em off like dis, biddy-bah-bah-bye-bye S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him Born II Die, BLAOW Kill em off like dat, biddy-bah-bah-bah-bang S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him ?? ?? [Spice 1] My gat scream fire The bullet told me shoot that motherfucker he's a liar I talk to my 380 like a bitch on the stroll When niggaz try to dick me I haul off and let her hoe, KILL EM ALL! I can't be fucked in this game, I'ma psychopath My AK, told me to shove him up some niggaz ass I'm havin long conversations with Mr. Millimeter He's one of my best friends, bitch-ass nigga eater And Missus Mossberg, livin up in that back trunk You know that old school bitch, she like to get in funk It's splittin motherfuckers by the seams My grandaddy Mr. AR-15 Said he was my only family Shoot straight, and please don't jam me My own Glock pistol-whipped me in my fuckin head Cause he said, I wouldn't buy the infrared Got in a fight at a club, my gat started walkin Told me to shut the fuck up and let him do the talkin I woke up, and it was sick to see them guts From my strap tell me Spice motherfucker, you're Born II Die One to the chest and one to the dome Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone (Born II Die) Aim yo best for the head so yo' brains get blown Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone Kill em off like dis, biddy-bah-bah-bye-bye S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him Born II Die, BLAOW Kill em off like dat, biddy-bah-bah-bah-bang S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him ?? ?? [Spice 1] Legal Glocks and Barettas and the Uzi thangs And if the shit jump off I'm killin everythang Don't be actin like no bitch when the funk is on Cause if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone One for the Glock, two for the clip Bullets in yo' ass make you hop and skip Niggaz who ride, strap on the side Open up your chest bout THIS fuckin wide This ain't no TV, you don't wanna see me I split your cranium so motherfuckin easy Leavin you bloody dead and shot My Glock goosed up your body like the motherfuckin dreadlock So get yo' ass home 'fore you catch some slugs Brain runnin down the drain like the L.A. floods Don't be fuckin with the S-P-I I'm tellin you motherfuckers I was Born II Die One to the chest and one to the dome Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone (Born II Die) Aim yo best for the head so yo' brains get blown Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone Kill em off like dis, biddy-bah-bah-bye-bye S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him Born II Die, BLAOW Kill em off like dat, biddy-bah-bah-bah-bang S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him [??] [??] [Spice 1] One-eighty-seven Crew ass nigga from the Bay AK spray, beat your dead body as it lay On the concrete die in one beat of the heart Seven day old ass body smell a little tart Pull up to your bumper with a fully loaded magazine Robbin your motherfuckin ass clean Blow the heart out a motherfucker back Nigga shit on hisself, when I pull out my strap Got a chrome fo'-five, bout nine in the clip In two ?? days, begin to mobb and dip It's just another tale of some gangsta shit Where niggaz murder in the first from a verse that spit Bitch-ass niggaz, expire, retire Stab him in the throat with the Dayton spoke wire So don't get caught up in the mix I, let you motherfuckers know quick, I'm Born II Die One to the chest and one to the dome Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone (Born II Die) Aim yo best for the head so yo' brains get blown Well if them niggaz catch you slippin then yo' ass is gone Kill em off like dis, biddy-bah-bah-bye-bye S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him Born II Die, BLAOW Kill em off like dat, biddy-bah-bah-bah-bang S-P-I-C-E-1 dem say him [??] [??] [Spice 1] Yeah nigga Straight walkin up on a motherfucker And takin his shit with a AK-47 nigga Get yo' shit cause it's on Tell you hoe you gon' be back Uhh, nigga gon' give up his shit Or he gon' catch a motherfuckin slug Yeah, you gon' catch a motherfuckin slug Uhh.. Spice 1 in the motherfuckin house Straight killin em all, BLAOW! Hehehahahahahahahahah Hahahahahahahahahahaha Ahahahahahahahaha!! Motherfuckers! |
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4:47 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
Rolling with my motherfucking strap on the side of me
Don't fuck with the East Bay G ..Repeat three more times Buck 'em down with the clip and the trigga Screaming like Eiht yelling come on niggaz Nappy head muthafuckas in a coupe Deville Lightin shit up like Fire Marshal Bill You see I hops on the flo like my nigga Dominoe And get a big fat sack of yay-ay A key or a half a muthafuckin thang Pistol whip a nigga with an AK-ay Peep this lodi dodi I shot up his body Left his ass bloody in the front of the party Yi-a-yi-a-young nigga rollin up out the cut Do a drive-by with the feds on my nuts Niggas be gettin gatted when they step to this Geezy I pulls my motherfucking Uzi And spill his brain *spill his brain* Spill his brain *spill his brain* I Spill his brain in his muthafuckin lap I pulls a jack *pulls a jack* Pulls a jack *pulls a jack* And shoot the heart out his muthafuckin back I come with 187 not with that ho shit So nigga spark up the bomb so we can blow shit ...Repeat intro 2 times Comin up on they ass like Tales of the Crypt then Uz-stang swallow that ass like Lipton *nigga* And now they try to wonder and figure How the fuck Charles Manson turned his self to a nigga Ba-a-blast on they ass with the holes in the barrel Bullets fly in they chest like a muthafuckin sparrow Cause we get like Steven King bodies swing from my ceiling Opens up the chest when it's time for the cap peeling 9-4 hit the do' with a fat gat Comin like this break em down like that The nigga with the plats and the fat crack sack Po pos on my back blow they ass off the map With the 187 mad man killa Spill a nigga guts for the fuck *cause I be* ...Repeat intro 4 times It goes one for the trouble but you don't wanna floss Unless you wanna flex with my bitch Nina Ross Ga-a-gat that ass with the double deuce derringer From the bay area the pall bearer 6 niggas carry ya momma in hysteria Walk up to your mutherfuckin coffin and I stare at cha Cause you're a dead muthafucka black And you never should have fucked with the 187 FAC So nick nack patty whack give a G a gat And put some bullets in that ass crack Yeah break em down with the Mac And like John Madden 93 BOOM he's on his back Spice 1 is a muthafuckin trooper So say what up to the East Bay Freddy Kruger Blow the head off a muthafuckin cow When my gat goes off like a M-1000 Take the hood off your hooptie when I bust a cap Rollin with my muthafuckin strap on the side *peace to my muthafuckin nine ... Repeat intro 8 times |
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4:30 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
(E-40)
Ah fuck it Ah y'all got your nigga E-40 in this motherfucker I buzz I put a step in (G-Nut) Kickin it in the Fac house motherfucker (E-40) Ay, G-Nut, Spice, Xtra-Large (G-Nut) Let em have it (Spice-1) Went out the house I think it was a Sunday Nigga was runnin with drop top drop havin a fun-day Kickin it with my niggas up on the block talkin shit drinkin "Crooked Eye" I got the fat head rush from the chocolate Thai I'm feelin good I wanna kick it and hang out But when the drive-by hit this is the main route What the fuck is my problem nigga? I got a glock seventeen better gobble them So why should I trip, load the clip, put the joint to my lip Get the motherfuckin forty take a real ass nigga hit I'm sittin on my gat thinkin shit is cool Some niggaz roll up in an old school I ain't trippin, ay 慓' you know this nigga's face I heard the motherfuckin bass of a sawed off shotgun, hand on the pump Musty dead bodies and a catty bump, trump Smellin up the neighborhood lyin in the bushes Somebody had mo' mail than the rest of the pushers (E-40) Yeah, I'm just a hustler Yeah, I'm just a hustler Yeah, I'm just a hustler Spice-1, you know some hoes gonna go boy Look here ay look here They got schemes and scandals out there right? When that funk is on this here Check fan, the motherfucker gotta be about As greasy as gravy in order to maintain So society is a motherfucker ain't it? Ay, whatta bout those niggas on your dick nigga? Ice spit some shit about that shit nigga (Spice-1) Get off my dick nigga get your own motherfuckers steady mobbin gaffle the motherfuckers cause my jobbing Shootin up motherfuckers was my hobby Stop the tech-eleven on two-eleven I did a robbery Shot the mothefucker is grenades that I'll be livin Lowin the motherfuckers like a new pair of Levi's and Used to think the cops were so motherfuckin friendly Till they tied my cousin to a chair and broke his chin 慓' My homies motherfuckin head like a melon Slavery is (?????) of convicted felon So dear Mr. Officer of the motherfuckin law Rodney Kind don't need a trial what was seen was what was saw You could take the niggas up out the motherfuckin ghetto But you can't take the ghetto up out the motherfuckin niggas Can't you hear the voice of the niggas comin at cha? Fuck you Mr. President I think I wanna gat ya I need mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the piles (E-40) I can't get enough, good, good Good shit motherfucker good shit I think I'm a little jet drunk motherfuck Ay, look here ay I'm off this Liquorice Rainall boy You understand that don't ya Huh, you feel it Ay, ay look here nigga, ay What I want you to do boy, drop that ill shit (Spice-1) I'll make this gat sing like motherfuckin Mary J. Blige And reminisce on havin a nigga's last breath when he slowly die Stang his ass in the chest with the hollow Capped him in his thr-thr-throat so he can't swallow R-a-rat t-a-tat put a buck in y'all The motherfuckin six-foot chucky dog Comin to play with the trigger of the AK Another real ass nigga from the East Bay ?W-E-L-L-T-E-P-R-O-O-F? For the niggas who kid yourself by losin your fuckin death Bloaw! Bloaw! Cap, we do it just like that Quick to put a motherfucker brains in his lap Smokin up a blunt as I reminisce of bloody body bags a motherfucker going nutty Bloaw! Bloaw! Po' bust a knowledge route Brown, notify his family, fuck it, send his fingers home Cause the shit get major, put the ?Montgomery? number upon his pager Bitch don't fuck with me I know a gang of niggas that will shoot it up with me I need mo' mail than the rest of the pushers (E-40) It's the S-P-I-C-E with ya nigga E-40 (Erick Sermon) Roll in to the curb and die These motherfuckers don't understand this shit boy This shit is so damn real man Ay, nineteen ninety-tre-four-five Ay, I got one of them Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers Mo' mail than the rest of the pushers |
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4:58 | 
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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5:22 |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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4:57 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
(Verse 1):
Now don't you run away from my Glock You can't dodge 17 muthafuckin' shots Could somebody pass me a clip and a trigger Walk across the party pistol whip a nigga Shiiit, I'm comin' up at 'em with the .9's the Glocks and Macs And they'll never breathe again like Toni Braxton Cause I don't see nothing wrooong with a little bummper jack So say "what up?" to the 1-8-7 FAC Nappy head ass muthafuckas wearin' plats Kickin' back like a muthafucka slangin' sacks Ready to peel a nigga cap if they got the nap So if you're funkin' with the FAC Better to stay strapped Cause we'll be comin' up at your back with the black Gat Nigga, and you be feelin' kinda fucked up When your homie drop, it's simple You can't run away from my Glock (Chorus): 2x Doncha runaway From my Nine There's no place to hide I'm gonna get you by and by (Verse 2): Spiggedy One kickin' dat ass with some lay back shit The trigga-happy nigga, I figure Niggas won't wanna step to me If they know I'll be bustin' caps I roll straps niggas take naps Cause I don't be fuckin' around When it comes to bustin' that steel I'm too real, niggas feeel me When I kick this gangsta ass shit that you never heard But fuck what you heard I smokes niggas like Herb Put your ass smooth on ice So nigga don't be 2 proud to beg For your muthafuckin' life Cause Nine Cali'll make 'em stutter Make 'em drop, nigga You can't run away from my Glock (Chorus): 2x (Verse 3): Comin' like the Lench Mobb swingin' on a vine Yellin' out peace to my muthafuckin' Nine Pullin' my cap back ready to serve they ass Givin' a fuck about what the next nigga done up in the past Nigga, I like to let a nigga have a bloody body Don't think I'm bad, no boxin' no karate Just a big fat Gat for them suckas I ain't scared of you muthafuckas Shiiit, and nigga that's how it be "Rollin' with my muthafuckin' strap on the side of me" So don't come at me with that shit 'Bout you gon gaffle me up I cock your cranium like the muthafuckin' Snapple and cut nigga So keep your hand on your pistol grip Bullets whistlin' and shit Feel like a fuckin' missle when you hit And I advice you to stay on alert Cause if you funkin' with my niggas You gon put in some work, nigga (Chorus): 2x (Outro): Yeah nigga You knew you couldn't fuck wid this G Would you wanna step to me Fo, hoe, haha Spiggedy One whippin' on that ass Ant Banks in the muthafuckin' house My nigga Omar That nigga knocked out muthafucka drunk and shit This nigga Jamar lay down the muthafuckin' studio Drunk than muthafucka You know what I'm sayin' But you know one thing Everybody in this muthafucka's strapped You know what I'm sayin' And nobody comin' up short So don't try to run away from my Glock Can't dodge 17 muthafuckin' shots 1-8-7 thousand G |
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4:08 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
Chorus: Spice 1
Can you love a playa man Can you love a playa man Can you love a playa man baby Can you really love a playa man [Spice 1] I twirl the wheel of my caddy with my middle finger Bellin' up out the hooptie mobbin' with my pants sagin' I smokin' on some of that Crush nasty with a G limp It's the born to die the S-P-I Playa status since an OG since Lee High Sportin' a G hat with the short brim Mr. giggity-gangsta hustler baller Whatever you wanna calla Straight playa up in this game Puttin it down for all ya haters Killin' ?m softly raisin' ?m off me Keepin' it real so they can't fade me Up in the 9-sick I kick back and roll a Vega up Rollin with the Hennesy Champaign and Remmy up in my cup Livin' like a baller but I'm still a G Soakin up game in the East Bay street Stackin that fetti S-P-I-C-E Chorus [Spice 1] The game is deeper than Atlantis So homie don't go in the water without your harpoon You swimmin' at your own risk Cuz in the bay ain't no parana But you can get your body ate up When you get to flossin up in that Lexus potna Look what the tied washed in That's what the people say Spiggity One straight OG up out the dirty bay Straight out the water Finna wet you up and leave your body soaked with some of that redrum So come on, come one and come on dem all And watch them bodies fall S-P-I-C-E comin' with that hard to kill a blow! Smile in your face all the while they wanna take your place I was strapped with a gun case But now I'm back out on the paper chase Spittin' ?m game And I'm usin' my mouth piece like Ron O'Neil The G from back in the day They always say I spit the real Keepin' these haters out of my pockets And always watchin' my spine The role of a playa is force and still looks out for mine Chorus [Spice 1] S-P-I-C-E be stackin fetti fetti See I be stackin' ballin' Since way way back in the day The bay area My play area Ain't no crips or bloods But if you cross game then I'm gone carry ya Up out the gangsta party quicker than you can think Rolexes upon the wrist and diamonds on the pinky playa Poppin' the cork on champaign Hundred dollars a bottle We roll in benzes and coups as if we won Lotto Don't let me hear you talk bad about a playa name Cuz if you get your scratch on haters gone do the same Chorus |
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3:18 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
Verse 1:
My old school homey took a fall His blood hit the mutha fuckin wall Ran to the trunk and got the AK cause the funk was on It felt like Christmas Day I got a present and it come with a banana clip Santa Claus mutha fucka meet the hollow tip But let me get to the trunk so they fucked up Now I? ?out to explode, niggas suckin chrome up Kick down the door and started spraying My nigga on the ground eyes wide open dead layin Busted a nigga in the back rat-a-tat-tat His blood hit the floor first, I heard his back crack Sounds of a mutha fuckin murder the ghetto got me insane to my damn brain Never leavin the house without my glock nine You can? stop crime, so I?a cock mine The other nigga had a baby mack, and he was off the crack He shot and missed and I shot back But we both hit the floor, what the fuck for I caught a bullet up in my chest and I didn? know But the bulletproof vest was on G so I kept buckin at his ass like a donkey And when I tried to run and get out the pig put the glock to my mouth As I was... Chorus: Runnin out da crackhouse out da crackhouse (repeat 3X , 4th = runnin out da mutha fuckin crackhouse) Verse 2: Cop had his finger on the mutha fuckin trigga Screamin some shit about a barbecued nigga I had a pocket full of 慶ane and a bloody gat I went insane when they blasted my cutty mack He was my potna lackin (?????) But I don? think he?l be alive for too much long I dropped the glock with a puzzeled look on my face cuz now I? stuck with the dope and fuckin murder case they threw me in the car and told me they that wanted a cut and if I try to get away a mother fucka stuck excuse me officer but you can suck a nigga dick he looked me in the eye and told his potna get the bitch slobberin at the mouth, mutha fuckin K-9 put it in my face told me not to waste time What? my name? Spice mutha fuckin ace yelled fuck the pig, spit a loogey in his face he let that goddamn K-9 go me and that bitch had it out on the floor it went on for five minutes or less, teeth marks on my mutha fuckin neck and chest he took me down to the county, I? seein?pictures of my niggas on the wall for the bounty I walked in with blood on my pants and niggas lookin at me like a black Charles Manson and I still had dope in my mouth cuz I? fresh out da crackhouse, out da crackhouse |
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4:31 |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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4:19 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
(Spice 1)
Yeah, what you lookin at, bwoy? PH balance style (Chorus: Spice 1) Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey (Spice 1) Hit the freeway in a 850 goin about a hundred and forty, sporty Niggas slowin down as if they know me owe me a Chronic session but I keep on mobbin' I got my own Fiendin goin to the zone, rollin up I see a Vega loan Watchin out for the po-po cause the gangsta braise alert the coppers Smokin under them choppers O.G.'s see me and give me propers They say whattup to the Easy Bay Gangsta each and every time As I took my hat and light my Chronic up in the sunshine I gets my mobb on just like all you other players Lookin out for dead Presidents who want that green paper Put out my doobie as I mobb up off the freeway I'm goin side-a-ways, this way, that-a-way I see my partners up in the alley fightin they pit bulls High performance, old schools, with fat dulls Catch me cussin at the cluckers on the street tryin to stop myself from pullin out my heat, I'm mobbin' today (Chorus: Spice 1) Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey (Spice 1) Po-po passin me up, lookin all inside my car it's full of smoke, rollin down my window, they see me choke And spit a loogie out on the street because I'm hella high Rollin around, maddoggin with some Red Eye Talkin slow and show them about which way to go Just hittin corners, tryin to find myself a liquor store Hustlers slangin on the stow-front tryin to make some ends I'm gettin deals on blunts from the Iranians They know my face cause I comin up at them every day For some Hennessy and lemon squeeze a Alazay Then I'm back on the streets drivin through the track See fools fresh out the Penn, killers from way back Hoppin out the hooptie chop it up with real ass O.G. homies Jerk players only, cause ain't no time for fakes or phonies Come catch a glimpse of a real player up in the Bay Gotta get my pay okay, I'm mobbin' today (Chorus: Spice 1) Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey (Interlude: Spice 1) Yeah I've seen up out there player, runnin with a five hundred knowhatI'msayin? 850, guard be, knowI'msayin, somethin proper, somethin fly, say knowhatI'msayin? Get your mobb on you know, youknowhatI'msayin? Or you can sweat these busters with their mean muggin, player hatin youknowI'msayin? That's all they is, get your mobb on man, cause I'm gonna get mine on youknowhatI'msayin?... (Chorus: Spice 1) Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop de doop de doop doo, doo Mobbin' today, hey Shoobedoop... |
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4:52 |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
[ VERSE 1 ]
Smellin stale fresh out the county jail Coppers gave me hell in a cell But now its Mo' Murder to make mail They thought my heart was playin life at a different pitch But I stick to the scrip Dump a snitch in a ditch Its 94 I can't be fuckin around Paranoia of a jack so I'm quick to draw down The only way I gets my mail is to be off in your ass With a AK or a Uzi screamin : Give me your cash nigga So back the fuck on up Cause can't nobody stop this nigga that's sellin the D that's raw and uncut Fuckin over fiends laughin in their face Sellin soap to niggas can die anyday Niggas come short up in them jacks G Another homie eyes wide open dead in my backseat We never thought that they would get him My nigga fought like a soldier we never knew that the bullet hit him Thought to myself was cocaine with my homie's life He picked the crime Do or Die now he pays the price To look of struggle on his face with his Gat in his hand My nigga died With the face of a desperate man [ CHORUS ] 2 X So we can tease his face We can tease his face The face of a desperate man , Gyeah-man Butabyebye butabyebyebang butabyebyebangbo So we can tease his face when him smokin the endo Butabyebye [ VERSE 2 ] Check motherfuckin 1 check 1-2 I gotta gets my mail thats what I gotta do And don't nobody run up on me Cause Franklin and Grant is my only motherfuckin homies I made a deal with the devil and sold my soul Threw up a O.E. at fourteen-years old Young hog ass nigga never ever soft Got me a strap and learned not to shoot my balls off And all the youngsters sneakin pass the bottle Because the G's , pimps and hustlers was the motherfuckin role model And everytime we had a house party Was just a chance for a nigga to see another nigga's dead body And nobody stayed around for sequels Cause the nigga that was bustin was spreadin'em bullets around equal Now they mobbin I'm seein sparks hearin shots Pistol's pop Another motherfucker flop On the asphalt stuck by the foe-foe Flatline ambulance put him in the doe Loud screams from his homies yellin Imma smoke 'em Feelin bad cause his partners on blood choke 'em A touchin scene niggas screamin in the rain Looked in his homeboy's face His homie said his name Now he'd be lookin for that nigga with the Gat and Ready for that Redrum With the face of a desperate man [ CHORUS ] 94 is gettin hostile nigga I gotta watch my shit mug on my face nigga hound-dog mean bitch I'm muggin every nigga that be walkin by Is it true can his hand be quicker than my eye I'm wonderin if I gotta pull out my steel Cause motherfuckers they can feel me they will look at me real So , foe to the motherfuckin foe If I have to let 'em know not to play me like a hoe Cause I sticks to the G code I unloads the clizzip and ease on down the road 1 and 1 Spice only I do my dirt about my motherfuckin lonely ( by myself nigga ) [ CHORUS ] 94 Spiggedy 1 with up on that ass Yeah Mean muggin every nigga that ride by Face of a desperate man nigga I gots to gets mine So if you try to take my shit Quick to bust a cap in that ass 94 Bloooooow Formally like that |
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
(Prodeje)
Go on, remember that shit you was kickin off Peace to my motherfuckin nine (Spice-1) Yeah I remember that old shit (Prodeje) So are you gonna kick some of that shit on your new album or what? (Spice-1) Yeah, I'm gonna kick some of that shit But ah, partner I don't even fuck with the nine no more half (Prodeje) Man don't you know the Nina is the shit? (Spice-1) Motherfucker, one E-C-I-P-S is like a murderer P-E-A-C-E to my motherfuckin nine servin ya Cause I don't give a fuck who you are Want an autograph bullet you can call me shootin star, nigga I'm makin the murda shit to kick you in your ass a bit 380 puckin up on that ass come and test me bitch You don't know who the fuck you're steppin to my nigga row I'll bust a cap and leave that ass dead by the do' My chrome is shining like new money and it's kinda funny I keep one bullet up in the chamber (????) sunny Five and a piggy dumb, dumb bullets to his hollow tip Thinkin 187 proof nigga come take a sip I'm sick, as fuck I'll do a drive-by in a black hearse And leave yo in the street for homicide I think 380 burst 187 on an undercover P-I-G They better duck when they see the chrome 3-AD I'm thin as see I'm suicidal I don't give a fuck So if my face wrinkle up everybody duck I rush a nigga bust a bigger hole in his ass Cause hollow tip will fight a booty hoe when I blast The bullet fucked ya when I bucked ya it was instant death 187,000 g motherfucker rest The nigga tried to flip and unload the clip, I did the gangsta shit (Chorus: Spice-1) 380 on that ass bitch B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) Niggas look crazy B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) N-Niggas look crazy (Spice-1) Me hit the block with my 3-AD Them niggas ballin lookin kinda shady They owe me money and they better pay me My shit will fuck up ya posse with the S-C-C 380 talkin to me tellin me blow a nigga back So listen closely to the echo of the clap Hit the motherfuckin blocks and my niggas My motherfuckin niggas with they fingers on the triggers So now I gotta smob and P-P-P-POP, POP And buck with that 380 until a motherfucker drop It's in my car boy slammed it on a under-tip I used to kill a motherfucker for his blunted grip I let my cousin use the shit to jack the Dana-Danes A G-T-A with jackin nigga left the bloodstain on the seat of the car he thought I was a star said I was a studio gangsta so I shot his jaw (Chorus: Spice-1) 380 on that ass bitch B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) Niggas look crazy B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) N-Niggas look crazy B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) Niggas look crazy B-Blast at 380 (everybody duck) N-Niggas look crazy (Prodeje) So why you quit fuckin with the nine? (Spice-1) I got love for Nina G but she won't fit in my motherfuckin top (Havikk) Don't you know that nigga Prod and Hav fuck with the nine and the 380? (Havoc) I blow a niggas ass to hell that's why I bust so deep I pack a fuckin 3-8-0 up in my motherfuckin sleep I'll split your skull and mail your brains to your mama fool 380 leavin motherfuckers in a blood pool So chase your skill better yet nigga run and hide I do a nigga on the slide when I hoop ride So nigga smilin eat the shells from the A-T-V Or many yet build the caps down with the faculty (Havikk) I'm ready to kill a nigga, quick I'm ready to kill a nigga 187 ways to heaven when I drill a nigga Then kill a daisy motherfuckers with the pistol grippin They ass is trippin because the Nina gave that ass a whippin The back-street way yard six feet digger Loced out with the nine makin that ass shiver The murders watch quickly smoked up Buck, buck, block, block, bang, boom, boom niggas over (Prodeje) I'll grab your heart and squeeze the motherfucker till it bursts And tie your corpse to the bumper of my homies hearse I pack a nine but yo I'm down to pack a 3-8-0 And pump some motherfuckin slugs up in yo' anus hole So punk ?look up? cause the S-P-I-C-E is strapped And leave your brains pole sating in your fuckin lap (Havikk) The cartel is for the killers the Mobb piece rhymester giggy cap peelers The giddily fuckin faculty the Prodeje the killers be the smokin nigga quicker 380's on that asshole nigga (Chorus: Spice-1) B-Blast at 380 Niggas look crazy (everybody duck) B-Blast at 380 N-Niggas look crazy (everybody duck) B-Blast at 380 N-Niggas look crazy (everybody duck) B-Blast at 380 N-Niggas look crazy (everybody duck) |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001)
[ intro: roger troutman ]
Spice 1 Too $hort, yup Said I'm a real playa, yeah Real playa Playa Playa... [ verse 1: too $hort ] Whoever try to buy a new benz, spend money on your friends Order up some shit with a pocket full of ends Ain't no sympathy for suckers, bitch, I'm a hustler For the last 12 years I could never get enough of That cash, I keep it in my jeans, bitch Have you ever seen it? a big pile of green shit? When I spend it, bitch, I'm the man I do what I want, suckers do what they can That's why I moved to the a, straight from the bay I'm still mackin bitches everyday, anyway And if you don't like it, I don't give a f**k I'ma still let my top down and turn this shit up Nothin half on my business, keep gettin paid If niggas stick together, maybe we'll live to see the day When everybody keep ballin like me and my folks Let these gold-diggin bitches count my spokes Short dog in the house [ chorus: roger troutman ] Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (ha-ha, ha-ha-ha) (what they can do) Real playaz do what they want to (yeah, real playaz) No time for strugglin (real playaz, ha-ha-ha) Real playaz do what they want to (short dog) Suckaz do what they can (yukmouth) (yukmeezy) (thugged out) (fo' sheezy) Real playaz do what they want to Real thugz gon' hustlin [ verse 2: yukmouth ] Hop in the ranger rover, mob, thrustin this out my car Shit better be hard, ghetto celebrity star Smoke 'dro out of jelly jars Boss to be fraud, catch me at the telly with broads Havin menage-? trois, x-ed out on the celly with todd "short dog, what's up? " he told me roger troutman passed I hollered, my shit about to crash Copped a block of hash, an ounce of grass Damn! poppin crystal, poured me a glass Then poured the whole rest of the bottle out on the flo' for yo' ass This's for my nigga roger, the godfather of futuristic funk Here's the ganja, get it crunk Twist the skunk, hit it once And keep that shit movin and Thug niggas do what they want to, and busta niggas do what you're doin I went from rags to riches, bagged bitches, jags and 6's To droppin a solo album that's sellin more than the last shit did I got the streets and ave's addicted ? ? ? swiss accounts, drunk as f**k in the stretch narrow strippers Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (real playaz) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) No time for strugglin (ha-ha-ha-ha, thugged out, fool) Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (check it out, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) Real thugz gon' hustlin [ verse 3: spice 1 ] I've come from more bounce to the ounce to short dog and roger troutman Yukmouth, we thugged out for the money and all the power Real niggas do what they want to, suckers do what the f**k they can Self-ma-made-mu-muthaf**kin-man Poppin my collar, li-livin the hustler's dream Ballers fiend for cream, pockets bust out the seams Franklin and grant is my dogs, I die for em (die for em) c-cry, lie, ride for em (ride for em) Nigga, I know you heard it through the grapevine I was out here doin it way too live Doin way too much, I'm tryin to touch 40 million bucks And flip a jet with some ? ? ? , about 14 Flop through your hood, bumpin this shit, smokin sticky green Thugs be hustlin, muggin and puttin muscle in No time for strugglin, keep your mind on bubblin You can't see me through websites, but I still got 'computer love' For my nigga roger troutman, cause he was ridin with real thugs Nigga Real playaz do what they want to (immortalized) Suckaz do what they can (real thugs) Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) No time for strugglin (westside, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (immortalized) Suckaz do what they can (for life Check it out, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) Real thugz gon' hustlin (westside) Real playaz (immortalized) Real playaz Real playaz Baby, baby, baby Ooh yeah Spice 1's a real playa, baby Yeeeaaah You gotta keep on Don't you know Don't you know you better watch yourself You better watch yourself You better watch yourself You know you got to be... Yeah Don't you be trippin in em streets, nigga Don't you be trippin in em streets, nigga Spice 1 gon' tell you how it's really goin' down Yeah Real playa Playa Playa Playa... |
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4:32 |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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3:39 |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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4:39 |
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| from Spice 1 - Hits, Vol. 2: Ganked & Gaffled (2001) | |||||
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| from Lee Risenour Feat. Will Downing - Lost (1998) | |||||
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| from Chapter 2 (2001) | |||||
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
(Intro)
Yeah nigga Game from the mind of some real motherfuckin' thugs (thugs) Fetty Chico up in this biAAtch (biaatch) Bloow !! (blooow) (Chorus) 2x You wouldn't believe all the shit I see (just a thug yes I'm only a thug) That's why I spit this thug poetry (walks like a thug talks like a thug) Clown like a thug put it down like a thug (Spice 1) Release me to the belly of the beast The jungle made of concrete Real niggas die in they sleep The strong prey on the weak We gets down from dusk til dawn Like quentin tarantino shakin' niggas up In the neck like (Joe) Pesci in "Casino" Fetty chico bailin' in buckets with bullet holes Caught up in drug wars Use current from cargos Too much drama in my past time (past time) I swore when I got outta jail it was my last time (last time) Fuck One-Time (hahahaha) Pants saggin' twisted up with the braids Leave the house 3 in the mornin 'fore the Drug Unit raid Get out the cemetery visit my soldiers up in the grave Tell 'em I miss the times when we used to get paid Though I'm thugging without ya Nigga I ain't forgot about ya Daily weapin' on some mobstyle shit ?? And when survival is goin' around Called the "thug disease" Gettin' niggas like rats trapped in murder for cheese It's thug poetry (chorus) 2x I'm just a thug (thug) yes I'm only a thug (thug) Walks like a thug (thug) talks like a thug (thug) You wouldn't believe all the drama I see That's why I spit the Thug poetry (spit the thug poetry) (Saafir) Ay, wassup This is Saafir, mayn, check this out Imma tell you like this here, mayn These Thug niggas, mayn Look, let me lace you with like Thug Poetry But now, I'm a rider though So Imma keep it mackish just lead me to it Cause it's easy to do it but it gotta be fluent Ohh shit this is bangin Hangin' niggas with the microphone cord That's my job without a rope (NO) Without a motherfuckin' joke (don't laugh) Nigga I'm clean as fuck without soap Keep my poetry like 'get out hoe' (get out hoe) Bustin' like a .44, Mr. motherfuckin' No-No from that Hobo Junction is the westbound campaign When I'm away from the camp, mayn Rollin' solo but stay loaded with slugs Cause ain't no love hoe don't wear no diamond-studded glove That superstar shit we'll get your ass put underground Super-far trick (quick) Like you fake ass niggas on some superhard shit But never murdered I'm a player that get braided up from the pussy And never squirted (never) That's game I hope you heard it Cause I'm on a mad point nigga Spice *WEEZY* serve it with some Thug poetry (Chorus) 2x I'm just a thug (thug) yes I'm only a thug (thug) Walks like a thug (thug) talks like a thug (thug) You wouldn't believe all the drama I see That's why I spit the Thug poetry (spit the Thug poetry) (Spice 1) I smash on niggas pullin' triggers We leave 'em stressed Never leavin' home without the medal plate in my vest This is westside livin' (livin') Hangin' out with the unforgiven Different murders under they belt but ain't nobody here trippin' We're all felons in this motherfucker Dodgin' 3 strikes (strikes) Niggas smokin' on that chronic weed leaf northern lights Reminisce of the dead (dead) Pourin' out a little liquor (liquor) Got me drunk and passed out With my fingers still on the trigger (trigger) Havin' nightmares of killers tryin' to take off my dome (dome) Wake up shookin' at bad dreams, is my sanity gone (gone) I'm looking for a piece of my mind there was torn When my homie stopped breathin' and died up in my arms Thug poetry (Chorus) I'm a thug yes I'm only a thug Walks like a thug talks like a thug I'm just a thug yes I'm only a thug Bust like a thug cuss like a thug Just a thug yes I'm only a thug Smoke like a thug chokes like a thug I'm just a thug yes I'm only a thug Ride like a thug slide like a thug Just a thug yes I'm only a thug Blast like a thug smash like a thug Just a thug yes I'm only a thug Drink like a thug fuck like a thug Hahahaha Aahahhah Aahahaahahaa Fetty chico Shiznilty Aahahhah Ebonic Sleezie Aahahhah You know, you kneezie Aahahhah Rick Reezie BI-AYY-IIITCH (bi-ayy-iiitch) Bloow !! (bloow) |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
[ intro: roger troutman ]
Spice 1 Too $hort, yup Said I'm a real playa, yeah Real playa Playa Playa... [ verse 1: too $hort ] Whoever try to buy a new benz, spend money on your friends Order up some shit with a pocket full of ends Ain't no sympathy for suckers, bitch, I'm a hustler For the last 12 years I could never get enough of That cash, I keep it in my jeans, bitch Have you ever seen it? a big pile of green shit? When I spend it, bitch, I'm the man I do what I want, suckers do what they can That's why I moved to the a, straight from the bay I'm still mackin bitches everyday, anyway And if you don't like it, I don't give a f**k I'ma still let my top down and turn this shit up Nothin half on my business, keep gettin paid If niggas stick together, maybe we'll live to see the day When everybody keep ballin like me and my folks Let these gold-diggin bitches count my spokes Short dog in the house [ chorus: roger troutman ] Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (ha-ha, ha-ha-ha) (what they can do) Real playaz do what they want to (yeah, real playaz) No time for strugglin (real playaz, ha-ha-ha) Real playaz do what they want to (short dog) Suckaz do what they can (yukmouth) (yukmeezy) (thugged out) (fo' sheezy) Real playaz do what they want to Real thugz gon' hustlin [ verse 2: yukmouth ] Hop in the ranger rover, mob, thrustin this out my car Shit better be hard, ghetto celebrity star Smoke 'dro out of jelly jars Boss to be fraud, catch me at the telly with broads Havin menage-? trois, x-ed out on the celly with todd "short dog, what's up? " he told me roger troutman passed I hollered, my shit about to crash Copped a block of hash, an ounce of grass Damn! poppin crystal, poured me a glass Then poured the whole rest of the bottle out on the flo' for yo' ass This's for my nigga roger, the godfather of futuristic funk Here's the ganja, get it crunk Twist the skunk, hit it once And keep that shit movin and Thug niggas do what they want to, and busta niggas do what you're doin I went from rags to riches, bagged bitches, jags and 6's To droppin a solo album that's sellin more than the last shit did I got the streets and ave's addicted ? ? ? swiss accounts, drunk as f**k in the stretch narrow strippers Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (real playaz) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) No time for strugglin (ha-ha-ha-ha, thugged out, fool) Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) Suckaz do what they can (check it out, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) Real thugz gon' hustlin [ verse 3: spice 1 ] I've come from more bounce to the ounce to short dog and roger troutman Yukmouth, we thugged out for the money and all the power Real niggas do what they want to, suckers do what the f**k they can Self-ma-made-mu-muthaf**kin-man Poppin my collar, li-livin the hustler's dream Ballers fiend for cream, pockets bust out the seams Franklin and grant is my dogs, I die for em (die for em) c-cry, lie, ride for em (ride for em) Nigga, I know you heard it through the grapevine I was out here doin it way too live Doin way too much, I'm tryin to touch 40 million bucks And flip a jet with some ? ? ? , about 14 Flop through your hood, bumpin this shit, smokin sticky green Thugs be hustlin, muggin and puttin muscle in No time for strugglin, keep your mind on bubblin You can't see me through websites, but I still got 'computer love' For my nigga roger troutman, cause he was ridin with real thugs Nigga Real playaz do what they want to (immortalized) Suckaz do what they can (real thugs) Real playaz do what they want to (real playaz) No time for strugglin (westside, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (immortalized) Suckaz do what they can (for life Check it out, nigga) Real playaz do what they want to (plow!) Real thugz gon' hustlin (westside) Real playaz (immortalized) Real playaz Real playaz Baby, baby, baby Ooh yeah Spice 1's a real playa, baby Yeeeaaah You gotta keep on Don't you know Don't you know you better watch yourself You better watch yourself You better watch yourself You know you got to be... Yeah Don't you be trippin in em streets, nigga Don't you be trippin in em streets, nigga Spice 1 gon' tell you how it's really goin' down Yeah Real playa Playa Playa Playa... |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
( * original lyrics by Ice Cube * )
Drop a old school beat Ha-ha Ha-ha-ha-ha Plow! [ VERSE 1 ] Now the taste of Crystal is fillin up my bladder What's the time on the rolie? It don't matter Had a pocket full of phone numbers I was tryin to sort To make a long story short: Ran into this girl named Sally Knew her from the backseat of my homeboy's Navi She said what's up, yeah, what's the deal? Check the nappy weave, of course it ain't real Then I looked down, she was fat in the front I asked how long, she said, "About 6 months" "Oh, how time flies when you're havin fun" She said, "Yeah, but the damage is done" "Where you been?" "On a little vacation" "Oh, by the way, congratulations Who's the lucky man?" She said, "I got him on file" Then she said, "It's Spice 1", and smiled I dropped my stout, then everything went blank "Had a baby by you, the neighborhood skank?" She said, "Yeah, don't you remember that day?" I thought back and tried to calculate Then I said, "Damn, are you sure it's mine? My homies did the Soultrain on ya plenty of times" She said, "That day, nah, I was whorin And your ass is mine", that's when the sweat started pourin Cause all I seen was Spice 1 up in court Paying a gang on child support Then I thought deep about givin up the fetti What I need to do is kick the bitch in the belly Nah, cause then I'd really be faded That's murder one, cause it was premeditated What should I do? Kidnap the bitch and flee? How many months left? Damn, only 3 I'm gettin faded Goddamn, what the fuck I done got myself into? This shit is dense |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
I peep your thighs when I look in the car
Baby, you ain't got to be on my shoulder to be a star Ain't a trick honey, cuz tricks is for pimps and hoes Just want to get you in the bathroom and take off your clothes Throw that ass on the seat like ??? and me alone Havin' sweaty sex, feelin' breasts with lex on Do it in the brome with diamond links and chrome Just call me on the phone and let me know it's on So sexy when I seen ya, want to hit it right there Picture myself fuckin the pretty curls out your hair Me and you buckin naked, no panties, no one to wear Doin' thug dancin and ??? like Fred Astaire Wanna do it to ya till ya can't taste no more On the edge of the bed about to fall on the floor Shift to high speeds than I hit it real slow Spark up the indo, said baby give me some more Can I Hit It Tonight? CHORUS I got the ??? in the crysty and all you gotta do is come kiss me And if you diss me, honey that's all right My thug game is still tight Just trying to see if I can hit a little something tonight I see the pressure, you want to make a move but you won't I know what you thinking, i'm thinkin' something is wrong Now why you wanna go and do that love, huh? Turn off the lights and give me a back rub, huh Got my mind twisted up, I know what's crackin In the tub, bubble bath, kinky sex and laughin' Keep my heat on the seat of the toilet, you think it's funny Giggling when i'm slappin that ass, countin' more money You know I love you girl I could set a cup on your booty and it'll hold Mob style, livin' them thugged out dreams baby i'm a rider and i'm into some things but I ain't goin into detail honey, just call me on it my partners might call me on the phone in the morning won't wake you up before I go...go, oh no Up early whippin' birdies that don't chirp to get my cash flow Don't take it personal, it's all love Let's do it around the house all night and smoke bud Put some ice on your belly button, lickin' it off I'm tatted up, thugged out, your body warm and soft Can I Hit It Tonight? CHORUS I shove my thug love deep inside, watch you react Sexy as hell, diggin your nails deep in my back Can I Hit It? Let's play a little hide and go get it Smell your perfume through the rooms of the house, come wid it On the back of the sofa, got me bendin' ya over Rug burns on me knees Got my brim on your head with a cigar in your mouth Trying to act like me, trying to be thugged out Like coffee skin tone remind me of pancakes Dancin' on the kitchen table, got me watchin' and shakin' You was waitin' at the house with a t-shirt and your panties on We thuggin in a six, hold on it won't be long Break the bed, bangin' bodies like two Bloods and Crips Got your hand on my thigh while i'm grippin' your hips Call the po-pos cause it's a crime what I do to your body Lost in ecstacy, bombed out, doin' the naughty Can I Hit It? |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
(Intro):
Yeah, this is Speezie Ace Black Bossalinie Fetty Chico, Shiznilty I just wanna say I got love for all you haters out there Cause if it wasn't for y'all, we wouldn't be real players Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha... (Verse 1): We're comin' in group with mob tactics and game Ghetto soldiers when we step on the scene Flossin' diamonds flashin' red beams My squad like the S.W.A.T. team Security areas scopin' I'm with the Fourteen By any means cream rules everything Money is power rather die like a soldier than Live my life as a coward How many players spit the real hits? How many ballers you know that you makin' scrill with? Haters be actin' like the game is gone But they ain't open they eyes I've been spendin' dead presidents since they was alive It's like Newport to G.P.C. Generic haters get smoked quick up because they cheep We Yay deep like a shark I pull you under the water Get you caught up in some thug (Shhhh...) Steady mobbin' and stackin' chips in the dirty Bay Suit angles and hittin' switches thugs ain't your average Marks just give up all they cabbage See the big fish eat up the guppies It's like real big dogs to little pound puppies .22 to a .50 cal.(iber) got 'em curious But my style was a problem child Robbin' banks when I was juvenile I told my P.O. (parole officer) I wouldn't give him no drama But if they try to take my life I'm dumpin', that's on my momma And my little girl the world is pre-timers Waitin' for a player like me to get behind her High Powered (Chorus): High-High-High-High-High (Skit over chorus): (...yeah playboy, real players lovin' to ball Natural Born Riders From the womb to the tomb We're real about this We at this Immortalized, High Powered for life We don't die we multiply Thugs - Energized like them batteries Ball for this moblife, move with Thugs...) (Verse 2): My life is all women and money But the money come over women I'm a worldwide self-made mob figure Ain't no room for suckers duckin' the undercovers Keep my strap on the side for the others who hate to love us Wanna be us, but they can't see us >From a womb to the tomb I'm th-a-th-a-thugged out as a fiend IS Born sinnin' in a world of Yea-dealers Pretty women dickin' in us niggas twirkin' off bomb and liquor Hit the front page of St. Louis Time's High speed'n WESTSIDE patna Felons committin' felonies and got the ATF all on my jock (??) cussin' back at smilin' will never stop We gotta duck see I'm callin' 4 or 5 different ghetto names Bossalinie, Fetty Chico, Shiznilty, Ebonic Slang Sported a rim since a B.G. original Bossalinie I'm tatted up thugged out bulletproofed wearin' a beanie Where the WESTSIDE at? Where the EASTSIDE at? Where the NORTH where the SOUTH where the WESTSIDE at? We're .50 caliber players mo' fools is .22's Murder next to my marrow killin' up streets with the blues Bossalinie, Fetty chico, been around since '89 Steady .9-technism thuggism from the mind To the suckers who ain't knowin, that's just too damned bad I'm from the killa kali WESTSIDE Where we ridin' for cash, I'm high powered (Chorus): High-High-High-High-High (Skit over Chorus) (...they ain't gon win, they can't win We're ridin' for ever, they can't win Patna, you just can't win We're High Powered You ain't nuthin but High Coward It's 1999, Peep Speezie Ace Black Bossalinie Fetty chico, Shiznilty Immortalized Blaooooooooow !!!!!.......................) (Chorus til end) Powered... High-High-High-High-High Powered... |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
(Intro):
Killa-forni-A Biaaatch !! Hustlers,players,gangstas,ballers,pimps,players All of those shit, I see all that shit You know, killerfornia Blooow !! Bloooooow !! (Verse 1): I'm hell-bound Niggas wanna kill me in my sleep in killerfornia Where the murderers be ambitious to creep And leave you six feet Sleep with the sharks in the Bay I'm out the yea where they back up shit they talk with AK's Niggas in L.A. trigger fingers itchy to spray Call it the golden state But niggas be rich off the game You get your cash on the Crips and Bloods be bangin' Nigga get your mash on G-locks and Uzi we sayin' Leavin your brains hangin' You'll get caught up in the cross fire Cause you'll be dog meat Lose your life in the jungle Niggas is savages Thugged out and it's hard to be humble When niggas ride up gaffle your shit And then leave you tied up Money and murder I pop them sherm sticks Niggas tend to bring the drama When I bury your dick But I'm hardcore Ready to kill shit up and war Wonder what else this motherfuckin' state got in store (Chorus) So much drama in northern california *cause killa kali is the state for the drive-by* Such a scandalous state but I love the place *that's why I duck when they fly by* So much drama in southern california *cause killa kali is the state for the drive-by* Such a scandalous place had ya smilin' your face *that's why I duck when they fly by* (Verse 2): From Sacramento to San Diego From Compton to the Oakland city Loc'ed up and thugged out Killer's ready to ride with me Stackin caps player pieces Rolexes and saggy pants Poppin' collars drunk as hell off hennesey Smokin' up Grams an ounces of Purple Kush, White Willow n <???> Weed or straight up chronic (chronic) Niggas still out to get paid Fuck the world I wanna die high It's sunshine in killa kali But still the bullets fly Palm trees and sandy beaches But niggas stay strapped with heaters Born sinnin' and ready for drama that's how they leave us 500's and Lexi coupes Niggas roll up with they troops Ballers be flashin' loot (flashin' loot) If you gon jack that nigga be ready to shoot And bring the pain (pain) Cause it ain't no comin' back in killerfornia Fuck with the wrong niggas they turn and blast on ya Dump executioner style and leave your ass goner Still do my dirt all by my motherfuckin' lone in killerfornia Chorus (Verse 3): No self-defense laws Bullet proof vests is illegal But you can go to the gun sto' And purchase yourself a desert eagle All of my homies is felons Some even died in my face Some niggas still ridin' around With a whole trunk full of yey Frisco to Fresno niggas do dirt And ride with their head low Indictments on mobstyle tactic murder for cash flow Cause jail bars Gangstas and ghetto stars Niggas don't give a fuck Bullet wounds and stab scars Hell of players and pimps Hustlers and gangstas with limps Snitches that disappeared into thin motherfuckin' air Haters be dreamin' Schemin to catch ya slippin' Just to get to dippin' after midnight AK's spittin' See the fire from the barrel Standin' down the block I got a flock Of desert eagle fifty cal shots Can't let these sucka ass niggas put one in my dome When I'm sittin' at home with a whole arsenal of my own In killerfornia Chorus |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
Intro:
*coughing* Damn! Standing here brings back a gang of memories, man Sitting on this old block All the violence and drugs you know But I lived through it Get this shit on, yeah nigga, you and them motherfuckers Rest in player pieces my niggas Blaaow! Innocent bystanders be laying up in the streets In the concrete jungle where real niggas be packing heat Leaving your insides exposed to the witnesses walking by Here today and gone tomorrow my nigga, we born to die Keep your eyes open partner, ain't no rules in this shit My nigga died with three kids and a wife, ain't that a bitch I can't go clubbing because I'm thugging with some G's for real I see some niggas at the party, then I'm subject to kill Keep my head over the water, uzi in the stash Niggas try to wet me up that's why I dumped on they ass I had a homey named ?oney' now he's R.I.P Niggas set him and killed him for some key's and g's I don't know why they fuck did it, niggas plotting and scheme That's why you can never be blind to a broke man's dream Because see I'm losing it. I can't take it. I miss my peers Talk to my nigga, Makaveli. He's been dead for two years Episodes of divine intervention, invade my mind Got me thinking, ??amn I could've been dead, a couple times' Killer pits and extra clips, around my bed when I sleep Stash my glock under my pillow, twenty gauge by my feet Sitting on my old block reminiscing again For my homies dead and gone in the wind Gone with the wind, gone with the wind Gone with the wind, gone with the wind Chorus: Sitting on my old block reminiscing again Put the fire to the blunt, take a sip of the Hen Sitting on my old block reminiscing again On my homies dead, gone with the wind Gone with the wind (2X) Too many niggas smile in my face and back stab I'm left throwing niggas in the trunk and kidnap Thugging and loving bitches obsessed with this mob shit Niggas thinking they moving and bailing out the cut with the quickness Suckers be blind to this real shit, we bring the pain Bossalini, Fetty Chico, Shiznilti still in the game Immortalized forever, having my homies up in the grave Thinking back on when I used to drank yac in my younger days Bust the twelve gauge shotty, too young to buy liquor Little bad ass niggas grew up to be mob figures Living life on a razor; cars, money and bitches Niggas plotting to kill us, coming in coupes in a milli's We go to war ?il they feel us, bury they ass on the realest (not sure what is said) eliminate you for scrilla Niggas dying on the frontline Spending most of they life ducking the one time, no sunshine In the world of sin, from the gutter to the pen Got me swimming in the game with a brim on my shark's fin Sitting on my old block reminiscing again For my homies dead and gone in the wind Gone with the wind Chorus I ain't no bitch but if you bone me I'm coming Running double trying to murder something Eyes red and heart pumping Serving niggas out the back of the Caddy Hitting corners, ain't no love for you snitch ass niggas in California Ducking suckers and shady bitches, scheming to gaffle riches Niggas living fictitious, running game and selling fishes Paranoia of surveillance vans watching me close Nigga (?) dreams died back in '94 Suckers laid down my homey, I just had to get off Can't be acting like no bitch nigga, because war is raw They say nice guys finish last and the good die young Too many real niggas put to death by the hand of the gun Sitting on my old block reminiscing again On my homies dead and gone in the wind Gone with the wind, Gone with the wind Gone with the wind, gone with the wind Gone with the wind Chorus (3X) |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
Livin in a world harcore,
niggaz be dumpin on them foes, catching cases highspeed chases, 40 Gz and 2 kilos, give me everything, cuz i aint all the world seem, seen to much mother fuckin gangsta shit and sucked up the game, times are savage, hardcore playaz aint your average, trunk full of triple beams, and the schemes of cream and cabbage, niggaz die for dead presidents on a green peice of paper, with the smash down for the cash niggaz that was in my thug nation. try to scalp all fuck half the world i want it all! but im bustin at u niggaz, with my back against the wall. fuck u bitch ass niggaz, lil trick ass niggaz, make your name up in my mouth taste like shit ass niggaz, see myself a smokin pistol, when i look in the mirror, its like a hologram picture of a tired up niggaz (ahahaha) you never really really know the game, cuz every time a nigga look up, the shit a changed, chorus nigga i wake up in the morning with a hustle and game, stick a needle in my vain, eatch injecting the game, tired all thugged out, fuck the money fuck the fame, try to make it happen mother fucker, cuz we too deep in the game. verse 2 its time to make it happen get paid, its that nigga s y a s k, tag- teamin for high screamin, plates in the A. there slackers they slangin all day. until the players rock and get paid, like on the ground face down, break yourslf, dont fuck around, and get sprayed, ??????????? paper. im on paper, leavin fakers with the fakers, like loaded pistols to their faces, i told my family as soon as i get the dough, im on my way back home,shit across the border like hard ? standon like noreaga the money maka, scott free across the sea, sippin cone whiskey, with the miggy gz gz. cold red fantasies, board a bocin, kick back floating across the ocean. like the black lack triple ds the mack, slanging the niggaz like keys of crack, back for opportunities, cuz our niggas sees is scratched, playing for keeps, addicted to getting it for quitting it, like the junkies hop fiends, chorus: nigga i wake up in the morning with a hustle and game, stick a needle in my vain, eatch injecting the game, tired all thugged out, fuck the money fuck the fame, try to make it happen mother fucker, cuz we too deep in the game. verse 3 u sound crackin mad cuz i aint getting no younger, and eatch mother fuckin poe poes that aint getting my dough, roll a hummer for the summer, rad katty in the fall, keep my mind on my money, platinum plats on the wall, u niggaz know i wont be fucking around, im bout the cash, and i hope u know im all about action, and down to blast, what the fuck u think, my homies are killas and drug dealers, use pills for sinuses, crash homes and dome niggaz, break bones and stoned niggaz. where u had to be ??? got gome ??? niggaz getting toed out, just dipping just getting niggaz twited up, smoked up. on a mission for the cash, cant be stuck up we mashed. were protection the money figures, protectiing them with triggaz city under seige, probably distruged, because some foes are killas, but no body claimin cuz their fobutaded niggaz, chorus. |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
Spoken Intro:
(Smoking & Coughing) God damn! This goes out to you bitch ass niggas speaking bad on the dead This goes out to my nigga Makaveli I wanna say what's up to my nigga Makaveli Rest in playa pieces Niggas die...daily Verse 1: Live the murderous lifestyle Seeing niggas get smothered With my foot in the grave and the other in the gutter Bred being a drug dealer, natural born thug nigga Ballin' with mob figures, soldiers and real killas Tellin' my homies when we hit the weed Avenge me if I die by my enemies Make sure they bleed Put their faces on the front page Blow a nigga in his dome, close range with tha muthafuckin' 12 gauge And tell 'em Bossalini called the shots Still lookin for them bitch ass niggas that murdered my homie Pac Locked up my nigga Major Pain Cause they can't fuck with the realism that came from a niggas brain You jealous muthafuckas still got me strapped I be smokin' on chronic sacks with death knockin' at my back I'm going crazy, seeing shit that ain't real Drunk and shootin' at niggas that I done already killed CHORUS: Trying to get to ghetto heaven cause i'm born to die Hopin' the Lord will see my reason when he asks me why Trying to get to ghetto heaven cause i'm born to die Hopin' the Lord will see my reason when he asks me why Make sure they bleed Make sure they bleed If I die by my enemies make sure they bleed Verse 2: Should they speak on a soldier when he dead Cause when he's livin' all the drama you spittin get your muthafuckin weed splittin Get your money while you still on this earth Born sinnin' from birth Black hearses cursing the turf Carrying dead bodies to the church Ashes to dirt, niggas be restin' in playa pieces like Tutinkam (spelling's wrong) Ain't no cowards in the game nigga, it's Vietnam Keep your killa partners with you but don't keep them too close Cause some niggas is magicians, turn your ass to a ghost And have you watch your body, lookin' at your corpse full of holes Cause some niggas appear to be friends and foes Who really knows? It's a fucked up world, niggas murder you while you sleeping And I'm waitin' to catch 'em creepin' Bitch ass niggas get to die with their eyes open The only real drama is two guns smokin' CHORUS Verse 3: Welcome back to the ghetto, niggas still infected with thug disease Felonies, 60 g's for 2 ki's ??? We all around When it comes to the root of the evil we all down Thugs crying with tears made a cop ??? Lord, what about the guard of the pen in the gun tower Is he going to hell for killin' niggas escapin'? Or going crazy cause his freedoms takin'? Born sinning, niggas dying with their nikes on I'm bringing fear to my enemies, keep them sleeping with their lights on Witnessing death on the streets, muthafuckas be dying daily All the O.G. niggas giving game to thug babies If them niggas catch you slipping than your ass is gone Take your muthafucking head, ain't no vest for your dome CHORUS |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
(Intro: Ike Dirty)
(*Blaow repeated in background*) (Hahahahahaha), yeah (blaow) that boombonic shit sound, happen here Spice 1... (Chorus: Spice 1) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) (Half-A-Mil) I pack twin glocks, sit mad Henrock, get cash in a Benz drop Get ass till my dick drop, how much pussy can a bitch pop? The way she makes that cash nigga thought she had a bounce in her ass Hittin' the switches, gettin' the riches, million put on the bitches Who wanna ride? Fuckin' with us is suicide Spice 1 puffin' on blunts is light one, it's the right one with tight funds from Brooklyn to Oakland No chronic give the po' to smoke one See we bad as hell, outta jail on bail Feds put a tap on my cell, all I talk about is pussy and paper in a hotel sippin' mo', gettin' the dough, 250 mill now we hittin' the door, come take plans raw Leave without your hoes, without rolls, without your clothes, without your dough (Chorus: Spice 1) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) (Ike Dirty) What the hell YOU cats thinkin'? I ain't gonna bring it, smoke it, drink it, crack it, think it Deep as Regans, fuck your feelings, don't wanna, can't get none Grab your gun, slap your son, split a Half-A-Mil with Spice 1 Whoopin' any nigga like Tyson, sold the stamp Ike Dirty hold it down, eyes everywhere, ears to the ground Sold pounds, sold pounds they area, BK bit area Air in your eyes, airin' you out Steel in your mouth, what's this man about? We ain't heard of me, next you wanna murder me Check my styles as a matter of fact bring your gats so when I come through I'm askin' where the cream is at Seem is as puffin' like the meanest ass, squeeze off take cheese and dash your greasy ass, rap on niggas step on niggas I'll be silent make y'all just check y'all (pause)... Shut up man, (no doubt), shut up man, (haha) (Chorus: Spice 1) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) (Spice 1) I'm a motherfuckin' killer for realer puttin' niggas up on they back with the ass of a twin flex, smokin' a SACK!! Thinkin' a nigga need to be in a motherfuckin' grave I ain't the one that leave a nigga breathin' holes is laid Up on the concrete face down with a h-h-hole in they back Niggas a pound, sticky green then fuck 'em all We ain't nothin' but real niggas livin' a ball On call seven days a week, killer g's don't sleep The niggas with the casket closed when we creep, creep Pull a job, do it like the motherfuckin' mob Throwin' niggas in trunks take 'em for a little ride Hit the block with the fully automatic with static around the corner niggas bustin' at the hoodie goin' BLAOW!! You bitches better throw in a towel, kill 'em off which is my style (MY STYLE!!, my style!!) Situations occur when you front on my thuggin' I'ma die fo' mine, cause your chrome up in the hummer, bail outta this drama Get the fuck outta the scene, leavin' niggas with they mom where the fuckin' bell ding Thug dreams, learnt from cream, wear my motherfuckin' life on a triple beam But when the enemies see me I'ma dip in the cut Pull out my Uzi and tear his motherfuckin' ass up (Chorus: Spice 1) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) They wanna keep a nigga under the water but I'm a killer I'ma DIE FO' MINE!!! (DIE FO' MINE!!) But if a nigga try to front on my thuggin' then motherfucker I'ma RIDE FO' MINE!!! (RIDE FO' MINE!!) (*echoes*) |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
Worldwide immortalized
Immortalized worldwide Worldwide immortalized Worldwide worldwide immortalized Worldwide immortalized Smokin endo with my killaz we ride Heat on the side Hella drama niggaz die In crossfire can't let em slide See the rigormortis set in his eyes Nigga surprise You was dumped on by some G'z on the rise It shocked yo ass when I pulled out the chrome I was putting niggaz in the tank before this rap shit came along Immortalized through this thug shit that niggas are spittin A chocolate philly a bag of sticky green and a game to spit We on the mash Put a slug in niggas stoppin my cash Mothafuckas wanna see me 6 feet in the grave Thinking I won't last But I'm a soldier I told you bitches know what the fuck The only way I'm fallin is slippin on one of you nigga's blood I'm in this shit for life and when my casket drop Then my thug presence be immortalized like Biggie and Pac Hear my shit thump in nigga's trunks for blocks and blocks Immortal thug shit'll never stop Immortalized Chorus x2 I can't believe je-a-jealous niggas don't wanna se-e-see me rise Thuggin in the caddy the-they got me thu-a-thuggin worldwide Eternal mobbin immortalized worldwide One thug to the niggaz like eazy-e soldiers who put a dent in the game It ain't the same candy coated niggaz claiming the fame (????) my brain This thug shit'll drive a nigga insane Diamond links and chains With infra red we aim Niggas loced up for the cash when the real G'z came Thu-a-thuggin laced up in my veins I can't be changed Immortalized like dead presidents with they faces on rocks Ebonic sleazy is the language for the game that we chop Green leaves Canibus satives and kryss style 50 Gs making niggaz bleed with pistols Put it down Cuz it ain't no time for fuckin around If a nigga wants to see 6 figures enough no less we platinum bound Remember me the man with the 50 cal in my hand Coming more savage than Tarzan Hear what I'm saying Niggas picking up on my casket but I ain't sweatin you haters Cause if it wasn't for bitch ass niggas it wouldnt be real players Represent to the fullest at the same time dodging bullets This mob shit ain't easy nigga but somebody got to do it Immortalized Chorus x2 Never die just multiply Thug niggas immortalized Energize like them batteries Caught up in the mob life Niggaz be talking that crazy shit when they don't know what the fuck they sayin Making money off rap music when you was in elementary playin It's all real Shoot back at niggas shooting to kill Well if its fuck my life its fuck yo life go to war with steel If you niggas ain't feeling me fuck yo clique and yo hood It's Bossalini straight soldier never went Hollywood Always riding through the streets hitting corners with felons In a bucket or a benzo when we blast it ain't no tellin It's west side till my life expire Mobb music till the wheels fall off mothafucker we all ride Put the fire to the endo sip on the Henn Cause you will never see a bad guy like this one again Put it on you niggas with no mask on Straight smash if it wasn't for rappin I'd be jackin gettin my blast on Chorus x4 |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
Intro:
Coolin on the corner with the cellular phone you can tell that the East Bay was his home More mail than the rest of the pushers, cuz he's got a technine in the bushes Verse 1: And that's how the shit was handled, first name Jack, last name Daniels Had two boys named E and J, E had the nine and J the AK Clocked on a street called Hennessey, robs with a mother fucker named O.E. E had a bitch and her name was Gin, had a nigga named Juice doin time in the pen You couldn't tell that Gin was a bitch though, cuz she was fuckin some nigga named Cisco E and J knew tonight they'd come with two fat niggas named Bacardi and Rum The cap jacks hoe and the sight was scary, the bitch was all bloody and her name was Mary Officer Martini wiped up the body, and all fingers pointed at Rum and Bacardi E and J told Jack the hotel, so Jack tried to bail Juice out of the jail But ol' E had the judge on the payroll clout, so Jack shot the judge up and rolled Juice out Now everybody's talking ‘bout Gin and Juice, Juice shot Gin cuz the bitch was loose Now E is shook thinkin they ain't gonna get me, I'll round up the posse and call up Mickey Mickey was big, he only sold 8 balls, had 99 niggas up against the wall E and J found out he made the call so E and J and Jack and Juice nined them all They were sent to the morgue and Mickey paid the bill, got the money from the bitch (?reckless?) Strawberry Hill Jack and Juice said Mickey wouldn't survive, but Mickey was slick he had a Colt 45 And now he's wonderin how he got the word, it was the neighborhood wino Thunderbird You wonder how the murder rap got so much juice, it was a hundred and eighty-seven proof , Check it out Verse 2: Mickey sent St. Ides after Thunderbird, time for the Hurricane he said word Thunderbird in an alley waitin, wearin a beanie, tryin to get a sip from the cop Mr Martini St. Ides screwed off Thunderbird's top, spilled his drank and gave a swig to the cop But it's too late Martini knows it all, Mickey and his boy OD were slangin 8 balls Of cocaine to the strawberries on the hill, so when he asked for Juice he got a quick fill Mickey had his boy on Bourbon Blocks, the murderous cop killer Mr Peppermint Schnapps Mickey had this thing about nosey cops and it made Mr Peppermint lose his top Martini off duty waitin for the Night Train, didn't know his wife Champaign would never see him again Peppermint Schnapps creepin with the Colt 45, gotta peel his cap before the train arrives Gotta stay low in Broward here comes the train all the boys said the engineers Bartles and Jaymes There was a toot from the train and then a gun blast, Martini fell on the ground there was a big splash Mr Schnapps got up because the cops chased him, St. Ides and Mickey in a ‘vette ready in front of the station But you know Jack and Juice was undercover, and Jack was mad B cuz Mickey shot his lover there was big shootout and Mickey got juiced, he couldn't hang with the 1-8-7 proof Juice was splattered and St. Ides had took a fall, and then Endo smoked ‘em all Check it out! |
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from Spice 1 - Immortalized (1999)
(Chorus) 2x
Baby come and go on this jack with me Come and do some savage thug shit with me If I die up in this drama Would you ride for me? You can be like Bonnie and Clyde with me (Verse 1): Fuckin' on the hood of my Benz Robbin' some of your old boyfriends (boyfriends) Dressed in black like twins (like twins) You sexy I'm saggin' (saggin') Bitch put this clip in your purse (your purse) Cause we about to go do some dirt (dirt) These niggas think you won't ride (won't ride) Comin' with the element of surprise I be hidin' in back up the trunk Leave it half unlock so I can dump Muthafucka These bitch niggas play hoe games (hoe games) But the shit gon stop today Cause I'ma take this AK (AK) Stick a Glock in your lingerie And we gon handle this shit like G's , bitch (biAAtch!) You can distract 'em with your cleavage (you know I'm sayin' hahaha) Kick on back with Spice 1 (spice 1) Baby, you can ride shotgun (shotgun) Little rings around your titty-nipples While I'm puffin' on my blunt (my blunt) Just some gangsta shit that I do (I do) When I ride with me and you (me and you) We alone in the middle of the night Rubbin' my .44 between your thighs You ain't scared it's the thug in me Got your lips on my neck and you're huggin' me Tinted bulletproof window so they can't see Just a down-ass bitch and a hard-ass G Hahaahaahha (Chorus): (Verse 2): Feelin' on your ass while you're bustin' out the roof Yellin' : 187 out the stolen coupe (coupe) Baby come and go on this lick with me Born killers like 'Mickey' and 'Malorie' You in love with a fugitive Po-po lookin' for me where I used to live ain't got no more jail time to give B-a-b-a bomb first my prerogative When I see your G-string in a hot tub Clips and gats all around makin' hot love And you're always down for a lil' sex , money and murder Laids up with a reload the gun won't me to serve ya Got you lost in a thug world Fully loaded magazine playin' with your pearl Crystal kinda ?? by the pool-side Got two twin-Glocks : Hers and His Nines Other hoes is fakin' you're the realest When it come to nanana you got the illest Got a nigga hittin' switches in the king-size Me and you get dressed and goin' Hoo-ride That's how we do it Some haters ????? Me and my bitch got you mark-ass niggas scared If you don't comin' with the money she gon empty lead Leave a nigga in a hooptie with a half-head (Chorus): |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Intro:
Yeah, I heard niggaz out here talking major shit you dig But ain't no motherfucker step to me and said "Spice you a punk" Cause you know I whup his motherfuckin ass Chorus: Niggas be muggin me, Don't show no love for me Don't playa hate me love tha thug in me Now when I walk on by, niggaz be muggin me Don't playa hate me love tha thug in me Now if your hoe come knockin at my door, she Must want a thug ass nigga for sure Cause it's the young playa Spiz-ice and I be stacking my paper 24 motherfuckin 7, a nigga havin it major Now we can do this like playas or we can hop into some gangsta shit Niggas be tryin to clown, when your bailin with your bitch I almost fell, gettin up out the car but see I had to pistol whip the nigga because he knows who we are We the niggas with the Lex's, Rolexes laced up with diamonds Timer, Timer, Baller, Baller she fucked with the shot caller now Didn't need no scrilla to get her, she want a thug nigga Poppin collars, and at the same time clockin dollars Real as they come I got soldiers ready to rob at night And when a nigga goes to your jar you don't attempt to fight You playa hate daily, talkin the shit on the ace But you a bitch cause you never talk the shit to my face Chorus 2X I put the pedal to the metal and uh jump the Chevy heavy in the game But about four five different ghetto names I can't be tamed I'm a G to my heart I can't be changed I've been breaking these niggaz down from the start I'm hearing shit up in the streets man, niggaz is crazy I've been serving them dope fiends on that block since you was babies And the world is yours, nigga you can have it all But if you talk bad on this G ass nigga you'll take a fall, blaaaow How many hoes want a nigga that get his ass kicked Car took, whupped and jacked ain't got no get back I ain't the type to let no nigga jack me Baby we cool if they run up on the Caddy Chorus 2X I'm off the Hennessy, when it's me she's callin right back I'm up in the Benzo on the mobile spittin the game off the yack I'm strapped with two blacks, cuz I ain't the baller who be out there slippin She understands niggaz be playa hatin so she ain't trippin Saggy pants G-braids but nigga still out to get paid I'm keepin my mind up on my money and all my money is made Shadetree niggaz be tryin to get in my mix Conflicts, 40 caliber cliques when I be burying tricks She seen me knock niggaz out now I do walkbys Now I put faulty ass niggas between them chalk lines See everybody be lookin when I be bailin, trailin indo smoke See it ain't nothing but the smooth sailin And now I kick back and enjoy my riches on a sunny day But sucka ass niggaz be all up in my way You're secure don't you worry bout a thang I got these two twin glocks and when they cocked this is what they say Chorus 2X |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Chorus: I'm high (repeat 6X)
S-P-I-C-E about to hit it and crawl Pull up the vega make it fat nigga got the crush nasty for a playa Purple Haze got me hittin the switches and rollin bats up With some niggaz who don't want to put the gats up I'm high til I kick the bucket Fuck it, throw some blunts on my coffin and I'll smoke it with the dead niggas Light it up like the Fourth of July Type of chronic make a dead nigga wake up high I get tired and ? pussy And niggaz know I got to smoke about half ounce, before I flow It ain't no ? in my zig-zag, I roll my blunt There ain't no weed in the studio, we on a hunt To get the sticky ass green shit, shut em down You can find a little chron' spot in every town Nigga sell a twenty ten sacks up on the block Break the doobies in the ashtray down to roll a chopper I'm addicted to the THC, gettin fucked up Leave your doobies around they gettin sucked up Lungs like a motherfuckin vacuum cleaner Mobbin on the fine Betty's smokin out the Beamer Just call me Dr. Bomb from the Bay Hit ya in the chest with the chron like an A.K. Kick back lay back and throw them feet up Sometimes I wanna roll, a whole fuckin tree up I break it down, halves and O's Smoking mold in a broke down sixty-four And ain't no nigga in the world that can outsmoke me The muthafuckin chronic addict S-P-I-C-E Bill Clinton hit the chronic and he didn't inhale But I'm gonna cough a fuckin lung up for niggaz in jail Chorus 4X Smokin pot before twelve, ain't no secret to my homies Step the fuck in your face with the smell of chronic on me It? the C-H-R-O-N-I-C ? with ? about a quarter to three About to loc the fuck up cuz the Fed hit the weed zone And niggaz tryin to sell me backyard homegrown I need the motherfuckin bomb break down the bail Roll it up in a fat ass chocolate zail Mr. Endo smoked em all Which every nigga hit the joint, cough, gag and crawl Suckin in weed smoke with my nose Hit the joint ten seconds hold it in for twenty-four It's puff puff pass Nigga quit fuckin the weed or I'ma bank on your bitch ass Chorus 8X |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Ice-T Intro:
Well alright. Spice 1 in the hiddouse (and Short Dawgs in the house bitch). WIth the L.A. Players (soldiers to the game you know?) Yeah. (Peep game fool). Ant Banks at the crackhouse ha ha ha better recognize game when it's in your face bitch). Ice-T: It's obvious mad cash got me gassed Shark tanks and views millionaire cruise buying cars in twos "Never lose" my motto since birth Double up knots and crack spots Snitches lead out by silence gun shots Map the area I wanted to cut the fuckin' cops a deal if they don't kneel, They get peeled Bitches recognize I never have no drama with death Bustas always try I leavin' 'em gagging spittin' up flem Take a pen make a mil and if this shit don't sell I still got the street powder back to flippin' flower South Central nigga what? The representer, damn your girl seen me comin' and ran Young enough to be my daughter My posse use to flip her like a quarter To state to my man for man slaughter Caught her in the stairway took her out the fairway Trunked the punk bitch (That's fair play) Hook: You've got the gangstas that I have tangled baby Bitch recognize game when it's in your face "Well alright ch'all" "ha ha ha" Too Short: You think the town rid of Short? You must be crazy, that silly shit you talkin' just don't faze me I could make a phone call and just like that A bunch of niggas from Oakland all on your back I've never been a shot caller just a nigga in a crew They call me Too Short but I'm still bigger than you bitch I been around you can take a turn but don't get burned I've seen the tables turn Marks turn into killers rich niggas go broke Use to be a wanna but now I'm old school Short In the game never had the stacks since age 14 I been spittin' these raps soakin' up the game up And even when I came up I fucked with same folks Still did the same stuff Bitch Short Dawgs in the house I know you want my dick cause it's all in your mouth Hook Spice 1: Picture the game as a quarter toss it up in the air (uh ha) Heads or tails win or lose broke niggas are players (x2) Say what up to the S.P. crooked I.C.E. Ra rolling with the strap on the side of me Potna don't get it twisted up I got hollow tips extended clips Major chips lookin' at Eclipse jacussi dips Niggas step back I don't know you Don't get to close to me Some niggas ain't really the motherfucker they suppose to be Cloud killers don't aim until you shoot in the air Better put it down and brake some hoes off like a true player Phoney as three dollar bills niggas ain't recognizin' Fell in the relapse besides I'm a trauma a nigga Look in the eyes and when you see me I be hardcore What the fuck a real nigga gotta lie to kick it for? I'm tired of these bubblegum ass niggas throwin' monkey wrenches into the game And all the players and pimps feel my pain Hustlers maintainin' riches and keepin' presidentals Not artfical with fishin' niggas know I'm packin' missles Get me two Bentleys some houses Johnson jet skis Ballin' till I die nigga don't fuck with S.P.I. Hook |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Chorus: Spice 1
Can you love a playa man Can you love a playa man Can you love a playa man baby Can you really love a playa man [Spice 1] I twirl the wheel of my caddy with my middle finger Bellin' up out the hooptie mobbin' with my pants sagin' I smokin' on some of that Crush nasty with a G limp It's the born to die the S-P-I Playa status since an OG since Lee High Sportin' a G hat with the short brim Mr. giggity-gangsta hustler baller Whatever you wanna calla Straight playa up in this game Puttin it down for all ya haters Killin' ?m softly raisin' ?m off me Keepin' it real so they can't fade me Up in the 9-sick I kick back and roll a Vega up Rollin with the Hennesy Champaign and Remmy up in my cup Livin' like a baller but I'm still a G Soakin up game in the East Bay street Stackin that fetti S-P-I-C-E Chorus [Spice 1] The game is deeper than Atlantis So homie don't go in the water without your harpoon You swimmin' at your own risk Cuz in the bay ain't no parana But you can get your body ate up When you get to flossin up in that Lexus potna Look what the tied washed in That's what the people say Spiggity One straight OG up out the dirty bay Straight out the water Finna wet you up and leave your body soaked with some of that redrum So come on, come one and come on dem all And watch them bodies fall S-P-I-C-E comin' with that hard to kill a blow! Smile in your face all the while they wanna take your place I was strapped with a gun case But now I'm back out on the paper chase Spittin' ?m game And I'm usin' my mouth piece like Ron O'Neil The G from back in the day They always say I spit the real Keepin' these haters out of my pockets And always watchin' my spine The role of a playa is force and still looks out for mine Chorus [Spice 1] S-P-I-C-E be stackin fetti fetti See I be stackin' ballin' Since way way back in the day The bay area My play area Ain't no crips or bloods But if you cross game then I'm gone carry ya Up out the gangsta party quicker than you can think Rolexes upon the wrist and diamonds on the pinky playa Poppin' the cork on champaign Hundred dollars a bottle We roll in benzes and coups as if we won Lotto Don't let me hear you talk bad about a playa name Cuz if you get your scratch on haters gone do the same Chorus |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
[Spice 1]
If foes try to jack I'ma blast three Run the fourth nigga over with the caddy Had he not known about the Mac Daddy Slug happy that's born to die Ask why You niggas be out there thinkin you can't ever be touched on Close your eyes and click your Filas and I'm gon' send you home On a one-way mission to CP Bannon My cannon is made for killin Nigga caught up in this mob shit and this drug dealin I'm tellin my momma don't want to be no statistic But realistically I've got my enemies scared shitless All of my homies is killas Surrounded daily by the real niggas with finger-trigs you dig? We big Nigga duck if you want to live Cause it ain't no name on them bullets murderers be dishin you wishin you never got caught up in my gunplay you shoulda listened Now it's too late ain't no turnin back Nigga you done started this I told you once before my trigger gots no heart at this Now shall I proceed to blow your head up off your spinal cord Cause niggas that fuck around with my click is gonna come up short [Chorus] Them come up short in the ghetto them die where them lay This is how we live and die up in the Bay [Spice 1] Remember the real niggas down for the killin and ain't no remorse for you suckas Ruckus is caused when the chrome is exposed to you niggas, leaving your body froze Your flesh is freezin you wheezin paramedics can't stop the bleedin You seein your life before your eyes You hate you leavin Shoulda thought before you pulled the trigger Thats the bitch in you Recognize realize that all our trigger fingers itchy too See we on some old mob shit Everybody guilty of somethin That's why when one dumpin, we all pumpin Tryin to kill us somethin Vacate the facilities when we bailin up in yo' shit Cause the pistol grips make bigger holes then them fuckin hollow tips You fuckin with a soldier Ain't nobody told ya You funkin with niggas that's known for killin niggas over and over this is my gunplay Cops ain't nothin but the Klan undercover Cops ain't nothin but the Klan undercover |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Chorus:
I'll be a baller 'til I die I'll be ballin' to my grave nigga, I die a paid nigga I'll be a baller 'til I die I'll be ballin' to my grave nigga, I die a paid nigga I'll be a baller 'til I die I'll be ballin' to my grave nigga, I die a paid nigga I'll be a baller 'til I die I'll be ballin' to my grave nigga, I die a paid nigga Spice 1: Some niggas be all up in my shit, you need to quit Sprinkle a motherfucker that will leave you split Tore back ass out bringing you your hat Flat broke, talking about fuck that nigga S-P-I But you can't go one on one Spice 1 because I'm born to die I gets even up on they ass like punk bitches in ditches The gangsterism resulting in murderism Bailing up in your hooptie at the gas station You facing the killer for real-a punk ass nigga Where the scrilla Jacking you for your shit, taking your ends pull off my mask Hitting the corner, hopping up in my Benz with your cash Mobbing I mash out, you ass out Left you shot up in your seven-trey glasshouse Because you don't know me like you think you do, I'm down for thefetty Ready to die for them presidents, high powered and deadly I ask to ball or not to ball, partner answer the question I meet a nigga running up on my hooptie with Smith and Wesson Chorus Yukmouth: One time for your mind Here to represent the pimps, playas, hustlas, ballers All my niggas on the grind, packing nine millimeters Nine lives like cheetahs, but your still in ??? Drug dealers peep the shit that I kick Hustling, busting down zips making chips If we ain't making it we taking shit To the extreme hit the scenery with machine Gun, get the creamery and ice cream, nobody scream Nobody run, I come like point blank Mobbing the motherfucking bank, looking like Benjamin Frank and Itake So many penitentiary chances, to make Scrilla scratch niggas must have more stack in the safe I mean ???, nigga your safe is my safe And I'm gonna make sure that my safe ain't your safe By putting a .38 up in your face For running up in my place and shake the spot And not expect to get your ass shot Yeah, another one bites the dust, the shyster busts caps at your house Matter fact, niggas don't like the Yukmouth About to L-U, didn't they tell you I'm a youngster trying to have something like my nigga L-Q Ballin' Chorus Spice 1: It's the motherfucking East Bay G with the hundred clipper, savage thugnigga See I was born with the lust for money, chrome plated triggers Mob style haulering 187 up in your face Put a gauge between your throat and tell you that your out of place Motherfuckers don't be knowing we vicious and vicious to get the cheese More tickets to G's, cruises overseas Can't be no punk about the shit that we're in Got to be a soldier to the game or nigga you'll never get your dividends Balling til I die, until I die I'll be a baller Let my riders do the dirt and I'll be the shotcaller Whatever I got to do for the lifestyle that'll pay them forever Never slip stay on my toes nigga walk with the yellow stripe But pull me back, because they cowards and shit I be the nigga that take your drama and put a twist in your the shit Caps get slapped with steel, hot slugs will be your meal Fucking around with my money is just going to get your ass killed Interlude |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Blaaw!
[Verse 1:] Nigga who you think you fuckin' with? You ain't no killer I put slugs in niggas opposite leg to get my skrilla Does a blackflip pull out my gat and blow your ass Twenty paces nine millimeter slugs up in they faces Ain't no nigga living alive that could vibe And have me caught up in some bullshit I eat your ass up with the full clip The giggidy giggidy giggidy gangster from the eastside of the Bay Ballin' outta the hooptie with the 50 clip A.K. Blaaw! Niggas don't wanna fuck with me Infared was up in your eye when you rolled up to me I have one bullet up in the chamber ready to put your ass to rest You was strapped with a bullet proff vest and it still went through your chest You fail to realize the size you fuckin' with a killer Boss mobster known to be effective figure [x5] [Hook:] Don't cry when me bleed ya, LR nigga don't let me break you down [x3] [Verse 2:] Don't be fuckin' with my emotions playa Cause a nigga will cut your balls off and feed 'em to you I'd love to do you with this big ass tech to get motherfuckin' respect Woo-ha put your ass in check Leavin' you hoppin' down the street with half your ass hangin' up off your Back So hold your motherfuckin' nutsack I'm off the yack nigga Put your dead homey up in my seat Open up the door and throw his ass out on the concrete See you can't fuck with a killer though YOu catch me bailin' parlayin' but I have to blast at you nigga though Keep it on your ass on the slundin' with the beenie Keepin' you motherfuckers two dollars short of a martinee I'm a straight soldier motherfuckin' player shotcaller boss baller Poppin' muy fuckin' collar hopin' you niggas is feelin' me cause I'm born To die Catch me runnin' in handcuff don't ask me why [Hook:] [Verse 3:] Circular game for murderers coke dealers and deez Gotta get my uzi for niggas that got that love for me Gotta pay my dues in this shit can't get the game for free So at the age of 14 a motherfucker was slangin' D And I've been gang related ever since I came out the womb of my mama Readly for the motherfuckin' drama Seen this Cherokee they start shootin' this bike Will see I hopped out of the hooptie to take they motherfuckin' life Got to bustin' apon they ass with the 4-4 watchin' 'em flee Harder to kill than your average motherfuckin' G Suprise niggas I got you cocked up in sight And Im hopin' I got your punk ass won't be makin' home tonight You cryin' homie that on the reala nigga you fail to realize the size You fuckin' with a killer [Hook] |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Hook:
5-1-0 and 2-1-3 is you a baller or a G? Spice 1 Intro: Ha ha ha. To thug or not to thug? To G or not to G? See that's the question. Everytime I hit L.A. I get love you know cause I'm from the Bay. Dub C, Big Syke you know Spice 1. Feel me. Spice 1: Count the dollars on the Lexy don't waste your time Let it shine let it shine let it shine Mizzolas and 850 flossin' I'm tossin' Doobies up out the window smokin' often coughin' Chokin' hard up off the indo smoke My mens with extra clips Hennessy Lemon squeeze begin to dip on me The G with the strap up on my side Keepin' these haters apon they toes cause they know I'm ready to ride Hide but you can't get away This is your dead homie you should of put your tool away But you still pull it on me, see I ain't trippin' I got foot soldiers that do dirt for me Love me enough to hurt for me and do some work for me Black roses is sent to the families with all the lives lost Kill 'em soft pay off my henchmen like a mob boss Mobster ballin' out the hooptie Who could it be? S.P.I.C.E. Hook Big Syke: Sound like baller I'm caught up in troubled times Destiny knows help me free my mind What can I do but stay true and be a man I'm just doin' what I can Migrate to Oakland lay low with my dog Spice Hang out with killers and dodge device Gotta pay the price took a life or maybe two (was it two?) I wouldn't of done it if I didn't have to In the wrong place at the right time evil minds learkin' Thought I was over peerkin' searchin' for a home I feel alone On these cold streets, sleepin' on couches with no sheets God guide me hide me from incarceration and start this despiration I'm facin' more time then I really got to give Damn I wanna live in 2-1-3 Hook WC: It's the Dub S.C. on G parolee And although deez steadily grinding for cheese Trunk fulla keys on my way O.T. from 5-1-0 to the 2-1-3 I puts it down bendin' the corner with my all blue Chevy My mind on gettin' the fetti, my heater cocked back and ready With G's crime related, affilated eyes faded Big bodies paper plated stayin' shaded for federated My crews full of nothin' but riders high off the Remy Chuck Taylors neck pieces and knitted beenies (uh ha) Mashin' on the regular hustlin' day and night Went from chronic to water but now we pushin' the China white Much loved by many but now by many hated Trippin' off the the haters lookin' mad cause we made it But don't get mad at me because I executed the game I got my hustle on loc you can do the same Hook |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Chorus:
Cookin' up yae in the pure form of a rock This is how we clock, stroll up on my block 3 in the morning po-po at my door I'm wonderin' if really po-po at my door This is kill street blues (Alternate 3 & 4)repeat 4X Verse 1: Sit your 5 dollar ass down Nigga 'fore a chief baller make change Cookin' up yae-yo at 3 in the mornin' Choppin' up game sackin' up caine Fetty was layin' all over the floor I guess you cold say that I was slippin' As the door kick in I stick in my clip and begin the dippin' Up on these so called po-po But I know it can't be nuthin' but some niggas Runnin' up in ski masks So I continue to curse and blast that asses out Tryin' to gaffle the scratch my gat consumes Just then my killa partner steps outta the bathroom Uzi's and Mack thangs start lettin' off Niggas catchin' slugs to the face Baking soda some niggas brains cocaine all over the place Took a dive behind the coach Heard a nigga say "We gonn' kill you" My 2 twin gats start talkin' to me said "Fuck them niggas I feel you" So I bail up outta the cut Tryin' ta take lives with no remorse Lookin' like a scene with Laurence Fishborne in "The King of New York" Now it's 3 o'clock in the morning And I still don't snooze 'Cause through my life niggas be given me all these kill street blues Chorus: Verse 2: 1 nigga died high Face down in uncut yae I stuck my finger up in the hole in his body, told him have a nice day My homie said "the real feds is comin'" Said he was hit I pull the bloody corpse off his body, he told me get the shit Ran to the kitchen Hopin' over the deceased Gotta get the rocks money and powder, and evade the police Put the fetty up in my hand Gotta be quick, gotta be nimble Look to my left seen 3 federalles' cars in the window Now it's time for me and my homie To mob the fuck on out As we mob up outta there 3 federalles mob in the house Can't say nuthin' about them other niggas Them haters is out there dead Couple a slugs up in they head, with a house full of feds And ain't no time to be stickin' around I'm hearin' them ambulances and homocides I'm ready to bail outta the scene and flee up in this "G" ride I'm thinkin' my homie heart stopped nigga dyin' on me Partner dropped down to the ground That's when them po-po started firing on me Chorus: Threw the caine down got to mobbin' off As the po-po yelled out freeze (freeze) Lost a down ass homie and the yae-yo man But fuck it I'ma keep the cheese (cheese) My partners eyes wide open Nigga layin' there one breath too short (short) But each time ya nigga Spice 1 hit the corner In a big white cloud of smoke (smoke) Federalles on my bumper baby Fittin' ta show 'em I ain't no punk (punk) Use the right hand to do the drivin' thang And the left hand ready to dump (dump) Led 'em on a high speed chase For about 30 minutes or a little bit more Got a triple thang murder up under my belt 'Bout 60 thousand ta doe (doe) Ohhh nooo Heard a slg hit my back tire Then I spun around Runnin' into the side while tearin' all shit down Bitches was screamin' niggas was cussin' Po-Po bustin' at me (punk ass nigga) Run into the liquor store Knowin' they'll never catch me But soon as I'm thinkin' of makin' my getaway Ain't this a bitch Some fedy with a 12 gauge Put the barrel fight up to my shit (stay right there nigger) Pull out the money and all of a sudden I hit the floor Looked up and see the barrel of Sgt. Kickass' 4-4 Chorus: 2X |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
Intro: Mack 10
BLaaaow Blam 187 Straight murder display from LA to the Bay Westside, My nigga Spice 1 aka Fetty Chico And I'll be Mack 10 aka Mack Manson What up Spice Spice 1: We serving chickens you damn sure can't get at Roscoe's If you don't want to see no murder then keep your eyes closed Nigga shake the dice up, roll 'em if it's one or ten They won't be able to put your ass together again Leave you in Reece's Pieces, rolling in white cornices Knocking out teethes, I know where we can get the blackheads cheapest From my homie down the street on the block He copping everything from Desert Eagles down to them mini-Glocks If niggas fuck off the money we raise the murder stats Me and my nigga Mack 10 committing terrorist acts You see us bailing don't mumble under your breath Have the heart to say fuck you so I can put five in your chest nigga Don't be no punk, I put my Uzi where my mouth is Yay under couches running out of crack houses We down and dirty for the birdy thirty-five a sack Nigga give up the stack it's Fetty Chico and The Mack Chorus: Fetty Chico and The Mack (Murder Murder) Ma-A-Mack 10 shooter, kill a man looter Fetty Chico And The Mack (Murder Murder) Open up your mouth, Say Ahh, get ready for theBlaaoow Fetty Chico and The Mack (Murder Murder) Ma-A-Mack 10 shooter, kill a man looter Fetty Chico And The Mack (Murder Murder) Open up your mouth, Say Ahh, get ready for theBlaaoow Mack 10: I'm in a murderous mindstate I'm on so much dope and coke I can't even do my line straight I smoke that ??? that shit put me in a trance And since my last LP they start calling me Mack Manson Now when I come around punks know they're gone ??? my pistol around and fall straight into a coma So take if you want it that's my number one motto Hitting licks like the lotto, with a four-five bottle And assault rifles like Rambo full of ammo Dump a nigga in his chest and watch him bleed through his flesh ???...... chicken hawking You kill a nigga, you kill his bitch so she can't talk So I smoked the bitch and made it simple I put one in her temple and got horny as a nympho So with a hard dick and guns, a bad bitch dies I take my two fingers and then I slowly close her eyes Chorus Capping him in his b-brain, with the m-mack t-ten that's my p-partner we d-d-doing him in L-l-leave him in the t-trunk 'til his c-crazy kid kicks one in the ch-chamber off the s-safety I g-got 'em g-got 'em four extra c-clips Infra-red b-beam h-hollow tips D-dirty l-licks m-midnight M-Mack W-One O and l-laser sights R-rollin b-blunts smoking to the doobie In my h-hooptie with my uzi t-talking to me Telling me thought another lick we can go pull off He told me keep your mask on don't take your hood off So me bail into Burger King and me pistol whip the guard Everybody up on the floor nobody try to make it hard Another guard was hiding he jumped out and bust at me So I let him count the bullets in my C-L-I-P Me hear them sirens ringing and me take off with the stack Bailing without the stretch it's Fetty Chico and The Mack 187-187-187-187-Blaaaow Chorus (Murder Murder) Murder murder and Kill Kill Kill World Wide WestSide |
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from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997)
(Chorus): 2x
So you wanna be a playa So you wanna be a G So you wanna be a gangsta (2nd time: player) But you don't wanna fuck with me (Verse 1): Diamonds up on the pinky rolexes up on the wrist Take a good look at this old pimpin' ass Nigga you ain't never seen a Mack like this It's the Thug in me Niggas be walkin' round muggin' me ruggin' me Tell your bitch to give me my dick back She pullin' me and tuggin' me Can't be fuckin' round with you cluckhead bitches Don't need no fixin' rubbers Just like my timin' ass partner (E-)40 say Punk bitch y'all burn rubber If that bitch can't swim then nigga she bound to drown What's up with you old ratched mouth ass bitches Tryna talk down on me and the town You bitches better recognize this is 187 proofer Mobbin' out the cut with a fat A.K. and a black on black Lex Luther Ain't no ?? up in this ?? just shut em down crush nasty Right now I'm kickin' this pimp shit but you ho's know I'm the last G In sticky situations will have bust with no hesitation You punk ass niggas don't know my background You just stuck on that player hation Why a nigga wanna talk bad on a timer who been down from the Get Go I can smoke a blunt up in my hot tub don't be trippin' off that old shit though (Chorus): 2x (Verse 2): You niggas ain't never seen me in person tryna assassinate my character Talkin' bout Spice ain't got no paper Bitch I'm a nightmare livin' in America Ain't no paperbag ass nigga hoe I done been through some shit Niggas walkin' round out here I wanna kill Wanna kill me too that's real Punk ass niggas they know who they is runnin' round talkin' shit Oh, fuck that punk ass nigga Spice 1 he ain't nothin but a bitch But one of these days I'ma have your ass chopped up in the back of my Benzo Mobbin' to this old gangsta shit right here smokin' on some of that Indo Too many fuck you bitches up in the game niggas be puttin' too much on it Born and bred to be a Thug ass nigga 2 fingers on 2 twin Glock triggers I know the game ain't got no rules and they got been laced Damn, if so many muthafuckas didn't know my face I would've been offin' you playa hatin' ass niggas a long time ago Would've seen you filled up with slugs would've seen you dyin' real slow But you know what I ain't trippin' off that old shit Cause y'all niggas ain't worth my riches Go head and sit around and chatter my name out I lace more punk ass bitches (Chorus): 2x |
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| from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - The Black Bossalini (Aka Dr. Bomb From Da Bay) (1997) | |||||
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3:59 |
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| from E- Sides & Unreleased (2009) | |||||
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4:02 |
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| from Dj AK - Sound Of Tha Tube (2008) | |||||
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3:52 |
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| from E-40 - The Block Brochure [Deluxe] (2012) | |||||
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| from Michelob - Don`t Let The Smoove Taste Fool Ya!!! (2004) | |||||
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| from Venomous, Oso & Unknown - Darkroom Familia Presents: Norcal Factorz (2007) | |||||
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| from Lil Coner - Balled Out- Hard Hood Classics (2005) | |||||
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| from Luni Coleone - New Sac City (2012) | |||||
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| from Tito-B - Pimpin Hustlin Gangsta Mob Shit (2004) | |||||
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| from Rishi Raj - Risky (2008) | |||||
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| from Rishi Raj - Risky (2008) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Spice 1 - Thug Disease (2003) | |||||
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| from Cool Nutz - Cool Nutz Presents: Collabos (2004) | |||||
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| from Dubb Sak - Bad to the Bone (2017) | |||||
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| from Fury - Plan B - Deluxe cd/dvd edition (2009) | |||||
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| from Happy - Nightmare (2016) | |||||
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| from Lil Coner - Connected Inc. Presents Balled Out (2004) | |||||
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| from B. - B. of Dakota South Records (2012) | |||||
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| from DJ KING ASSASSIN - Fillmoe 2 San Jo (2007) | |||||
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| from Wu-Tang Clan - Wu-Chronicles: Chapter 2 (2008) | |||||
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| from Dangerous Ground - Music From the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (데인저러스 그라운드) [ost] (1997) | |||||
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