Squeeze Box - Lyrics - Laura Branigan

Title: Squeeze Box
Artist: Laura Branigan
Composer(s): Peter Townshend

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Lyric:
Mama's got a squeeze box
She wears on her chest
When daddy comes home
He never gets no rest
'Cause she's playin' all night
And the music's alright

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

Well, the kids don't eat
And the dog can't sleep
There's no escape from the music
In the whole damn street
'Cause she's playin' all night
And the music's alright

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

She goes in and out and in and out
And in and out and in and out
She's playin' all night
And the music's alright

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

She goes squeeze me
Come on and squeeze me
Come on and tease me like you do
I'm so in love with you

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

She goes in and out and in and out
And in and out and in and out and in and out
'Cause she's playin' all night
And the music's alright

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

You know that mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

Mama's got a squeeze box
Daddy never sleeps at night

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9b1941a8aa49fa57839db04df7556bc8

Squeeze Box - Lyrics - Mark Wills

Title: Squeeze Box
Artist: Mark Wills
Composer(s): Monty Criswell, Larry Michael White

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
I'm slippin' into Slidell, the boys and me
Take a left at the Texaco, gonna see Sweet Marie
She plays down at Jim beaux's Gumbo and Washtub
In calico and bare feet in a band called the Mudbugs

I been workin' up my never and I can hardly
Tonight when she asks for request
I'll stand up and say

I wanna be your squeeze box
Always at your fingertips
I wanna be your blues harp
A little closer to your lips

Let me be your washboard
You can play me fast or slow
Squeeze box, blues harp, washboard
Baby, anything you can hold

Got a bucket full of craw fish, a seat on the front row
Just to sit this close to her, it's like a shot of Tabasco
Makin' trips to the tip jar, to keep it full of dollar bills
Tonight I'm gonna go for broke, show her just how I feel

One way or another, Lord, she's gonna notice me
If I have to jump up on that stage
And get down on my knees
I'll be beggin' her please

Let me be your squeeze box
Always at your fingertips
I wanna be your blues harp
A little closer to your lips

Let me be your washboard
You can play me fast or slow
Squeeze box, blues harp, washboard
Baby, anything you can hold

Squeeze box, blues harp, washboard
Baby, anything you can hold
Yeah

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60739d36a950321ff58d95c16768e1fb

Fais Do Do - Lyrics - Charlie Daniels Band

Title: Fais Do Do
Artist: Charlie Daniels Band
Composer(s): Chuck Jones, Charlie Daniels

Lyric:
Les le bon temps rouler

Hey baby, won't you stop what you're doin'
Go on home, put your red dress on
Tell your mama I said not to worry
I'll have you home before the break of dawn

Sonnier's got his squeeze box pumping
Thibadeaux's got his fiddle out
Meet me over by the side of the river
'Cause there's big doins down at Boudreaux's house

Take my bateaux down by the bayou
Pole on over to the fais do do
Don't be late, don't keep me waitin'
Everybody's gonna go, everybody's gonna go

I wanna be there when the band starts playin'
Zydeco music makes me wanna dance
Sun's goin' down and a new moon's shinin'
Mighty fine night for the big romance

I've got a question, I just might pop it
I know something that you don't know
Well, I got a ring of gold in my pocket
Tonight's the night and you can't say no

Take my bateaux down by the bayou
Pole on over to the fais do do
Don't be late, don't keep me waitin'
Everybody's gonna go, I said, everybody's gonna go

Take my bateaux down by the bayou
Pole on over to the fais do do
Don't be late, don't keep me waitin'
Everybody's gonna go, I said, everybody's gonna go

Hey baby, won't you stop what you're doin'
Go on home, put your red dress on
Tell you mama I said not to worry
I'll have you home before the break of dawn

Sonnier's got his squeeze box pumping
Thibadeaux's got his fiddle out
Meet me over by the side of the river
'Cause there's big doins down at Boudreaux's house

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7e6135419e6f9306cb0e64a711ff0f35

Double R What - Lyrics - Eve-Olution - Eve

Title: Double R What
Album: Eve-Olution
Artist: Eve
Composer(s): David Styles, Jason T Phillips, Eve Jeffers, Jesse Bonds Weaver, Kasseem Dean

Lyric:
What up what up what up, yeah!
Eve, let's do it again!

Yeah, it's the ghost Jada and Eve
I squeeze my shit, I don't wave it and leave
Y'all motherfuckin' extra lame
Here's the game, when I shoot seeds, your man can catch your brain

He looked a hero when he drove the taxi in the hallway
Shootin' niggas down if they clothes is tacky
Get an 18 or brick and my clothes is khaki
And the Porsche got a glass roof

The blunt got a live purple haze in it, little bit of hash too
See me when I pass through, fuck around and I'ma blast you
Do what I have to, tryin' to get my math too
I leave a message, ain't a phone I use

I call my niggas, bat 'em down, they bones I bruise
Leave 50 niggas dead, niggas know my groove
Another 20 more engine niggas know my tools
I got a gun, you need to stand fo'
Fuck you bring yo' man fo'?

S be the ghost, Double R What
First come the hawk, then next come the toast
K to the R Double R what
Send mad cowards on they way to Allah

E V E, Double R What
First lady, I just point, they squeeze
Ryde or Die, Double R What
Better keep your hammer right by your side

I gave you the best flows
On top of that, I even made niggas set goals
I wanna know how many bullets can your flesh hold
Thirty-two, or whatever the tech holes

My dirty crew rather hawk you to death rather than talk you to death
'Cause listenin' is like livin' when yo' talkin' is death
So y'all better start readin' before you start bleedin'
And the odds was against us before we got EVE-n

Niggas in the hood don't give a fuck if you rich
Or drunk with the Prince C.D. own, bumpin' a kiss
Nigga frontin' I get my you in the pump kinda hot out
Hit the button put the roof in the trunk

Play the block with the Royal Blue 45 and make your mouth leak
Can't fuck with NY, get my diesel from South Beach
You ain't got a ride, getchu a cab
Ya' bitches is mad, Eve got the shit and smash, uh

S be the ghost, Double R What
First come the hawk, then next come the toast
K to the R, Double R what
Send mad cowards on they way to Allah

E V E, Double R What
First lady, I just point, they squeeze
Ryde or Die, Double R What
Better keep your hammer right by your side

I'm a savage bitch
Ain't nobody gettin' close to this
And ain't nobody flipped and wrote the shit
And can't nobody sit and coach this shit
You feelin' lucky? then aproach me, shit

I'm like the glass, you just the coaster bitch, under me!
You wanna make it ugly, can't do nothin' 'bout it
Angry at the public, buggin' me
Rat bitch, pot bitch, hungover hot bitch
Wantin' all that money, fuckin' gettin' in that rock, shit

Scared of who? Huh, we goin' get rid of you
Climbin' the walls wit' gimmicks, that shit is pitiful
Dawgs close by me, so why try me
They wan' cop me but they too sloppy

Damn, I gotchu stuck in a box
You feelin' trapped, got your stomach in knots
'Cause I ain't lettin' go, I keepin' it locked
I know you gettin' mad 'cause your luck's up
Plus I'm a purebread, baby, I don't fuck with mutts
Come on!

S be the ghost, Double R What
First come the hawk, then next come the toast
K to the R, Double R what
Send mad cowards on they way to Allah

E V E, Double R What
First lady, I just point, they squeeze
Ryde or Die, Double R What
Better keep your hammer right by your side

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f73eafb982b9d7dcd59d53a2377879f6

Cajun Moon - Lyrics - Ricky Skaggs

Title: Cajun Moon
Artist: Ricky Skaggs
Composer(s): Jim Rushing

Lyric:
The moon is full and my heart is high
I love to dance, oh me, oh my
Gonna have more fun than a tree in a coon
Tonight's the dance of the cajun moon

Pick ups and wagons 'round the river road shack
Bonfires draw in a crowd out back
Step through the door and I see my Sheri
That's when I feel her mama's eyes on me

Cajun moon, nugget of gold
River of light on the bayou
You're just like rain to a love in bloom, so
Shine on me oh, cajun moon

Guitar, a squeeze box, a fiddle, a bow
Little band playin' every song they know
Old woman sittin' there and yellin' for more
My heart is willin', but my feet, they're so sore

Cajun moon, nugget of gold
River of light on the bayou
You're just like rain to a love in bloom, so
Shine on me oh, cajun moon

Once more we're waltzin' to Jolie Blond
I lean in closer and Sheri responds
Her mama's smilin' as we slip from the room
To sit and stare at the cajun moon

Cajun moon, nugget of gold
River of light on the bayou
You're just like rain to a love in bloom, so
Shine on me oh, cajun moon

Cajun moon, nugget of gold
River of light on the bayou
You're just like rain to a love in bloom, so
Shine on me oh, cajun moon

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181604bdec8e3c67fdeb93486cc280d3

Die - Lyrics - Lupe Fiasco's The Cool - Lupe Fiasco

Title: Die
Album: Lupe Fiasco's The Cool
Artist: Lupe Fiasco
Composer(s): Demarco Lamonte Castle, Wasalu Muhammad Jaco, Rudolph Loyola Lopez

Lyric:
I present the death of The Cool

Well I heard like a group of cows
That all ya enemies wanna shoot you down
They got AK-47s and a bunch of Mac 11s
Semi-automatic weapons that produce kapows

Word on the street is, they all got heaters
They gon' hit you up and you ain't even gon' see it
You got a lotta money, I ain't tryin' be funny
But they say, "Where you goin'? You ain't even gon' need it"

They see you ridin' 'round, shinin' with ya
Fine round diamonds pretty green-eyed lady
Been on the sideline poutin', while you prime time poppin'
Hungry niggaz want a piece of your pastry

I suggest you protect yo' bakery
'Cause they comin' for yo' head
And it's a bounty on that chain
That's hangin' from yo' neck, they said

I don't know, what you've been told in your ear
But I hear it's goin' down, somebody gotta
(Die)
Don't know, what you been told in your ear
But business goin' round, somebody gotta
(Die)

Hit a nigga wit the mini-Mac strap
Clap any nigga think he gettin' Gs' down here
In a meter, any nigga gettin money and my honey
Man, I heard Micheal Young is the re-clown near

Run up on a nigga from the back wit a Mac
Gon' be strapped 'cause a nigga finna squeeze off ten
Run up on this nigga 'Lac, rat-ta-tat-tat
Click clack, where this nigga at? I need sin

Shit is goin' down ever I see him
Bump a nigga out like Oxy-10
And keep a couple of dollars up in the wallet
To pay the cops so they can never box me in
(Die)

That's what I'm thinkin'
While ridin' around polishin' this big pistol
I'ma catch him in the wind, pray the gun don't jam
So until we meet again, nigga it's cool

I don't know, what you've been told in your ear
But I hear it's goin' down, somebody gotta
(Die)
Don't know, what you been told in your ear
But business goin' round, somebody gotta
(Die)

Don't pay them niggaz no mind
They hatin' on you, ain't nobody witta shotty
And plannin' on doin' a robbery, itchin' to catch a body
Creepin' in a stolen jalopy, out there waitin' on you

I'm sittin' in a stolen car, finna rob this nigga
Should I let the mini-Mac or the shotgun hit him?
I been waitin' all day, tryin' spot this nigga
I can't let him get away, I'ma pop this nigga, uh

Plus they don't know about the chopper in the trunk
The Glocks in a box and the nine on tuck
The bulletproof glass, the 40's in the stash
You pull the steerin' wheel and it pop on up

Forty caliber stashed up in the stash box
Bulletproof windows, you couldn't break 'em wit a padlock
Ak in the trunk, where the sounds bump
Two twin Glock 40's and a nine and this damn clock

Man, we finna go up in this club, show a lil' love
Get a few drinks, holla at some girls
Snatch up a pair, leave outta there
Put some 'dro in the air, then go and get some grub

I say we go up in this club, show a lil' love
Get a few drinks, holla at some girls
Snatch up a pair, leave outta there
Put some 'dro in the air, then catch a few slugs

Ay, ay, ay, pull over right here, I gotta take a pee
And don't go nowhere, nigga wait for me
And if some niggaz do kill you in the next few minutes
Just remember my nigga, it's a heaven for a G

Ay ay, hold this right there I'll be
I'll be right back, I gotta take a piss man hold on
Fo' sho, ay man, ay don't leave I'll be right back
Ay, don't leave I'll be back

Hurry your ass up man, damn
Coolest nigga what, Coolest nigga what
Coolest nigga what, hustla fo' life, ay man
Aiyyo, nigga hurry yo' ass up, man

Cool ass nigga man, fuckin' three in the mornin'
Coolest muh'fucker in the world man
Niggaz ain't fuckin' with me man
Nigga high, smokin' fly ass car

I run these motherfuckin' streets
Niggaz out here lookin' for me
Nigga, I wish a motherfucker would
Ay nigga hurry yo' ass up, nigga, damn

Wassup now, nigga?
Ain't too cool now, is you nigga?

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a2b592d75715536acd974d42007fc9e7

Ghetto Story - Lyrics - Ghetto Story - Cham

Title: Ghetto Story
Album: Ghetto Story
Artist: Cham
Composer(s): Dameon Beckett, Dave Kelly

Lyric:
This a survival story
True ghetto story
This is my story
Real ghetto story
Hey

I remember those days when hell was my home
When me and mama bed was a big piece a foam
An mi never like bathe and my hair never comb
When mama gone a work me go street, go roam

I remember when Danny dem tek me snow cone
An mek him likkle bredda dem kick up Jerome
I remember when we visit dem wid pure big stone
An the boy Danny pop out something weh full chromeI remember when

We run, Fatta get him knee blown
An mi best friend Richie get, two inna him dome
I remember so the avenue tun inna warzone
An' Mickey madda fly him out, cau she get a loan

But, Mickey go to foreign and go tun Al Capone
Mek whole heap a money and sen in our own
Now a we a lock the city and, that is well known
Yesterday Mickey call me pan mi phone
Mi say Mickey

Wi get di ting dem, dem outta luck now
Mi squeeze seven and the whole a dem a duck now
Wi have whole heap a extra clip cau we nuh bruk now
Rah, rah, rah, rah

Wi get di ting dem, so dem haffi rate wi
Cau we a tek it to them wicked of lately
And now the whole community a live greatly
Rah, rah, rah, rah

I remember bout '80, Jamaica explode
When a Trinity and Tony Hewitt dem a run road
That a long before Laing dem and even Bigga Ford
When Adams dem a Corporal nuh know the road code

I remember when we rob the chiney shop down the road
An rumor have it sey the chiney man have a sword
But we did have a one pop wey make outta board
So you know the next day mama pot overload

I remember when we skip the poll clerks
An dump the ballot box pan Tivoli outskirts
An hold a plane ticket and go chill over Turks
When me come back a still inna the hole me a lurk

I remember those days when informer dirks
Get one inna him face and me nuh get nuh perks
And the bigger heads dem are a couple of jerks
'Cause a dem a mek di money, when a wi mash di works

Wi get di ting dem, dem outta luck now
Mi squeeze seven and the whole a dem a duck now
Wi have whole heap a extra clip cau we nuh bruk now
Rah, rah, rah, rah

Wi get di ting dem, so dem haffi rate wi
Cau we a tek it to them wicked of lately
And now the whole community a live greatly
Rah, rah, rah, rah

Jamaica get screw, tru greed an glutton
Politics manipulate and press yutes button
But we rich now ,so dem caan tell man notin
'Cuz a we a mek mama a nyaam fish an' mutton, ehh

Ova dehso mek mi tell unnu some'in
Tru mi dey a foreign now a guy kill me cousin
An mi here sey TD deh dey but him sey he wasn't
Anytime mi fly down him a get bout dozen 'cause

Wi get di ting dem, dem outta luck now
Mi squeeze seven and the whole a dem a duck now
Wi have whole heap a extra clip cau we nuh bruk now
Rah, rah, rah, rah

Wi get di ting dem, so dem haffi rate wi
Cau we a tek it to them wicked of lately
And now the whole community a live greatly
Rah, rah, rah, rah

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5565e2bd2f9b749ab8e8e0b0f993b02e

Get Money - Lyrics - Junior M.A.F.I.A

Title: Get Money
Artist: Junior M.A.F.I.A
Composer(s): Christopher Wallace, Sylvia Striplin, Roy Ayers, James Bedford, Kimberly Jones

{AdsenseCode:2D080010-7055-443A-8D12-2B79DDC71256}

Lyric:
Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money
Get money

You wanna sip mo' on my living room flo'
Play Nintendo with cease a Leo
Pick up my phone say "Poppa not home"
Sex all night mad head in the morn'

Spin my V, smoke all my weed
Tattoo on sayin' B I G, now check it
You wanna be my main squeeze baby
Don'tcha, you wanna gimme what I need baby

Won'tcha, picture life as my wife just think
Full length mink, fat X and O links
Bracelets to match, conversation was all that
Showed you the safe combinations and all that

Guess you could say you's the one I trusted
Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard?
Got hot, you sent feds to my spot
Took me to court, tried to take all I got

'Nother intricate plot, the bitch said, "I raped her"
Damn, why she wanna stick me for my paper?
My mo-sci-no, my ver-sa-ce hottie
Come to find out, you was everybody

You knew about me, the fake ID
Cases in Virginia, body in D.C
Woe, oh is me, that's what I get for trickin'
Pay my own bail, commence to kickin'

Lick in the door, wavin' the four-four
All you heard was, poppa don't hit me no more
Disrespect my click, my imperial
Fuck around and made her milk box material
You feel me? suckin' , runnin' your lips
'Cause of you, I'm on some real

Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money
Get money

Get money
Get money

Betta grab a seat grab on your as this gets deep
Deeper than the of a six feet
Stiff feel sweet in this little petite
Young from the street, guaranteed to stay down
Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound
Now I'm Billboard now, press to hit it

Play me like a chicken, thinkin' I'm pressed to get it
Rather do the killin' than the stick up jooks
Or rather count a million while you eat my
Push me to the limit get my feelings in it
Get me open while I'm cummin' down your throat

You wanna be my main squeeze
Don'tcha, you wanna lick between my knees
Don'tcha wanna see me whippin' your three down the Ave
Blow up spots on because I'm mad

Break up affairs lick shots in the air
You get vexed, and start swingin' everywhere
Me shifty now you wanna pistol whip me?
Pull out your nine, while I cock on mine

Yeah what? I ain't got time for this
So what? I'm not tryin' to hear that
Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits
Adia Vinadini and Chanel lime boots

Things that make up, for all the games and the lies
Hallmark cards, sayin, "I apologize"
Is you with me how could you ever deceive me?
But payback's a, believe me
Naw I ain't gay this ain't no flow
Just a little somethin', to let you motherfucker know

Get money
Get money
Get money
...

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6b5b6572af8478994c9be89189396c1b

12 - Lyrics - The Riddle Box - Insane Clown Posse

Title: 12
Album: The Riddle Box
Artist: Insane Clown Posse
Composer(s): Joseph Bruce, Mike E. Clark, William Dail

Lyric:
Awake awake awake awake
Revenge is mine
Twelve people will die tonight

Guilty guilty guilty
Guilty guilty guilty
Guilty guilty guilty

Now I've woken, been reborn
Though I have just until dawn
I remember every face
Spirits show me every place
First one sleeps inside his bed
Place my fingers on his head
To each temple, push and smother
Till my fingers touch each other

Next one makes love to his wife
Only wish to take his life
For his family's done no wrong
Place his children on the lawn
Tell the Mrs. leave the room
Lest she wish to witness doom
Grab the squirmy, filthy goat
And shove the dresser down his throat

I must quickly use my gift
Next to work the midnight shift
Drinking coffee in the back
I will listen to them chat
Hear them speaking of my death
Hear the laughter in their breath
But the laughter quickly died
When their heads collide

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

Now my anger's growing worse
Next one's working as a nurse
Have to make a doctor's call
Drag my body down the hall
Grab a scalpel and a blade
Time to play the nurse's aid
Operate, then strap her down
Carve her face into a clown

Killed another, then three more
Now we're down to only four
This man drives a taxi cab
'Nother wicked life to grab
Screaming that he thought I'd died
Let's go for a taxi ride
In the wreck of twisted steel
The steering wheel becomes his meal

This man watches his TV
Scanning channels endlessly
Stops at station fourty four
It's the wicked clown show
Watch me juggle, watch me dance
In 3D watch me enhance
Watch me crawl out from the screen
And squeeze your neck until you're green

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die

Time time time time
Time time time time
Time time time time

Even though there's just one left
I feel my bones becoming stiff
And now I wander endlessly
The spirits have abandoned me
My limbs are falling piece by piece
My ears and fingers in the street
But still you see no morning sun
And here's my victim's early run

Quickly grab him from behind
Round his neck with fishing twine
Keep him still and pull the string
Watch his head go bobbling
Listen to my riddle song
Even though my crime was wrong
Murder me just for your law
And I'll be back for all of y'all

You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
You're gonna die
And I'll be back for all a y'all
...

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56e2864d8d840ae0800b15a3aa8b85da

D - X - L - Lyrics - Dmx

Title: D - X - L
Artist: Dmx
Composer(s): David Styles, Earl Simmons, Mel Jason Smalls, Damon Blackmon, Jason Phillips, Sean Jacobs

Lyric:
Holiday styles
Bitch, I get you shot in the head or shot in the neck
If I ain't gettin' proper respect
I don't care if you rap, I still spit in your grill
I don't give a fuck, never have, never will

If it ain't on your hip, then you're lookin' to die
I ain't tryin' to be the nigga that's gonna look at the sky
Ask God why I'm broke, bitch, I'm cooking the pie
We all gon' die, sooner or later, matter of time

My niggaz sell crack, with a package of dimes
Hundred or more, in front of the store, waitin' to bubble
Brand new nine, and an eight in a bubble
I put sixteen above ya neck, I love my set

Niggaz think they a thug, then thug to death
(Uh-huh)
'Cause the P gonna squeeze till no slugs is left
(What)
You know I'm good with a hundred of 'dro, gun and an O
You think your shit butter? Hop in front of this toast

Yo, aiyyo, aiyyo
I say what I want, fuck what y'all think is cool
And I hate cops, 'cause most y'all was dicks in school
No pussy gettin' niggaz tryin' to cuff the God
Play Sheik out in the yard, but that shit too hard

My dough too long, nowadays my flow too strong
What y'all make in a year, I kick that for a song
Check my car, I don't care, I don't play fair
Keep some shit in the stash box, then get me the chair

And it don't buck shot and the blast is hard to hear
I'm a true thug nigga, bring it straight to your crew
Small yell when I rap, I'm basically talkin' to you
You see the pain in my eye? Nigga, the flame in my eye?

I'm tryin' to leave my kids some real fuckin' change when I die
From rappin' or tellin' some cat to reach for the sky
I'm that hunt down nigga, with the four pound nigga
Bounty hunt your whole crew till my bullets go through, what?

Yo, yo, yo, yo all I need is a big gun and a Coupe that's crazy quick
A nice house with five rooms, maybe six
A town where money is coming, eighty bricks
Break 'em down to all twenties, is a crazy flip

Bet you never even felt the heat
Till I put the M1 next to your waves and melt the grease
Streets help niggaz, niggaz don't help the streets
Y'all use beats for help, we help the beats

Who want it with me? Who want it with Sheek? Who want it with P?
If I say so myself, it's a wonderful three
Be in the hood with all your jewels in the glove box
Same niggas that-a rob you love L.O.X.
(Uh)

All types of burners, even snub glocks
(Uh)
Nice size tecs you could carry in your sweats
(Uh)
Find your man dead in the trunk of a car
(Uh)
It's Jada responsible for breakin' your heart
(Uh)
Uh

Creep through the streets
For some of y'all rappers, that's mighty hard
Me the Security? Protectin' my body? I let my shotty guard
Put chill pills in brains, bullets like Tylenol
Make niggaz drowsy from the blood loss, got 'em noddin' off

And take casket naps, fuck that you shoulda never let this bastard rap
All I know is cold winter, hot slugs through your snorkel
No parents, tale from my horror's no morals

Raised in the wrong era, with no guidance
So you dyin'? It's no problem, no lyin'
Drag's fire, so ya hamburger beef? I french-fry 'em
To drag done ate your food

Like I know to raise your dukes so guard your chin up
Drag barrels, but shit, I spit-bubble your skin up
Drag scorch niggaz for dinner but season 'em well
I don't brag I let the streets tell po'-po' now you see he fell

Uh, uh, now you motherfuckers
Know what my name means when you hear it in the streets
(Uh)
Y'all bitches fear it cause you weak
You wanna hear it? I make it speak
(What?)
You ain't ever bust a gun, but there's a lot of greasy talkin'
(Uh-huh)
What the science behind that son?
(I don't know)
A lot of easy walkin'

I bust shit down got down kick down shot down
(uh,uh, uh, uh )
Ain't tryin' to talk about what I got now, but I got now
(What)
I ain't never sold a brick, I done stuck niggaz up
(C'mon)
And for talkin' too much shit? I done fucked niggaz up
(Uh)

It can get "Dark" for real, and I think you already know that
(Uh-huh)
Well think about it with the brick in your hand before you throw that
Now don't act, cause actin' might get you rollin'
With what you ain't ready to handle
(Uhh)
All that's left of your memory, is a candle
(Woo!)

It happens quick fast nigga, to bitch ass niggaz
Talkin' reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggaz
(Uh)
From the rap shit to the street shit, I keep shit tight
Let them cats spit that weak shit
(What)
I'm dog for life, nigga

They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra jails and extra cops
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra pits and extra glocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra chains and extra watches
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)

They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra jails and extra cops
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra pits and extra glocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra chains and extra watches
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)

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7ad17b99e7bd9c7852e3eaa80cb3512a

Get Money - Lyrics - Lil' Kim

Title: Get Money
Artist: Lil' Kim
Composer(s): Christopher Wallace, Sylvia Striplin, Roy Ayers, James Bedford, Kimberly Jones

Lyric:
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money

You wanna sip mo' on my living room flo'
Play Nintendo with Cease-a-Leo
Pick up my phone say, "Poppa not home"
Sex all night, mad head in the morn'

Spin my V, smoke all my weed
Tattoo on *** sayin' B I G, now check it
You wanna be my main squeeze baby
Don'tcha, you wanna gimme what I need baby

Won'tcha, picture life as my wife just think
Full length mink, fat X and O links
Bracelets to match, conversation was all that
Showed you the safe combinations and all that

Guess you could say you's the one I trusted
Who would ever think that you would spread like mustard?
*** got hot, you sent Feds to my spot
Took me to court, tried to take all I got

'Nother intricate plot, the *** said I raped her
Damn, why she wanna stick me for my paper?
My Moscino ***, my Versace hottie
Come to find out, you was *** everybody

You knew about me, the fake ID, cases in Virginia, body in D.C.
Woe, oh is me, that's what I get for trickin'
Pay my own bail, commence to *** kickin'
Lick in the door, wavin' the four-four
All you heard was, "Poppa don't hit me no more"

Disrespect my click, my *** imperial
*** around and made her milk box material
You feel me suckin' ***, runnin' your lips
'Cause of you, I'm on some real fuck a *** ***, uh

*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money

***, betta grab a seat
Grab on your *** as this *** gets deep
Deeper than the *** of a *** six feet
Stiff *** feel sweet in this little petite

Young ** from the street, guaranteed to stay down
Used to bring work outta town on Greyhound
Now I'm Billboard now, *** press to hit it
Play me like a chicken, thinkin' I'm pressed to get it

Rather do the killin' than the stick up jerks
Or rather count a million while you eat my pussy
Push me to the limit get my feelings in it
Get me open while I'm commin' down your throat

Then, you wanna be my main squeeze ***
Don'tcha, you wanna lick between my knees ***
Don'tcha wanna see me whippin' your 3 down the Ave
Blow up spots on *** because I'm mad

Break up affairs lick shots in the air
You get vexed and start swingin' everywhere
Me shifty, now you wanna pistol whip me
Pull out your nine, while I cock on mine

Yeah, what ***, I ain't got time for this
So what *** I'm not tryin to hear that shit
Now you wanna buy me diamonds and Armani suits
Adrienne Vitadini and Chanel 9 boots
Things that make up, for all the games and the lies
Hallmark cards, sayin', "I apologize"

Is you wit me, how could you ever deceive me
But pay back's a *** ***, believe me
Naw, I ain't gay this ain't no *** flow
Just a lil' somethin', to let you mother*** know

*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
*** ***, get money, *** ***, get money
...

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9ba43bfa9b8ffe478ab9c43b751ca067

D-X-L (Hard White) - Lyrics - And Then There Was X - Dmx

Title: D-X-L (Hard White)
Album: And Then There Was X
Artist: Dmx
Composer(s): David Styles, Earl Simmons, Mel Jason Smalls, Damon Blackmon, Jason Phillips, Sean Jacobs

Lyric:
Holiday styles
Bitch, I get you shot in the head or shot in the neck
If I ain't gettin' proper respect
I don't care if you rap, I still spit in your grill
I don't give a fuck, never have, never will

If it ain't on your hip, then you're lookin' to die
I ain't tryin' to be the nigga that's gonna look at the sky
Ask God why I'm broke, bitch, I'm cooking the pie
We all gon' die, sooner or later, matter of time

My niggaz sell crack, with a package of dimes
Hundred or more, in front of the store, waitin' to bubble
Brand new nine, and an eight in a bubble
I put sixteen above ya neck, I love my set

Niggaz think they a thug, then thug to death
(Uh-huh)
'Cause the P gonna squeeze till no slugs is left
(What)
You know I'm good with a hundred of 'dro, gun and an O
You think your shit butter? Hop in front of this toast

Yo, aiyyo, aiyyo
I say what I want, fuck what y'all think is cool
And I hate cops, 'cause most y'all was dicks in school
No pussy gettin' niggaz tryin' to cuff the God
Play Sheik out in the yard, but that shit too hard

My dough too long, nowadays my flow too strong
What y'all make in a year, I kick that for a song
Check my car, I don't care, I don't play fair
Keep some shit in the stash box, then get me the chair

And it don't buck shot and the blast is hard to hear
I'm a true thug nigga, bring it straight to your crew
Small yell when I rap, I'm basically talkin' to you
You see the pain in my eye? Nigga, the flame in my eye?

I'm tryin' to leave my kids some real fuckin' change when I die
From rappin' or tellin' some cat to reach for the sky
I'm that hunt down nigga, with the four pound nigga
Bounty hunt your whole crew till my bullets go through, what?

Yo, yo, yo, yo all I need is a big gun and a Coupe that's crazy quick
A nice house with five rooms, maybe six
A town where money is coming, eighty bricks
Break 'em down to all twenties, is a crazy flip

Bet you never even felt the heat
Till I put the M1 next to your waves and melt the grease
Streets help niggaz, niggaz don't help the streets
Y'all use beats for help, we help the beats

Who want it with me? Who want it with Sheek? Who want it with P?
If I say so myself, it's a wonderful three
Be in the hood with all your jewels in the glove box
Same niggas that-a rob you love L.O.X.
(Uh)

All types of burners, even snub glocks
(Uh)
Nice size tecs you could carry in your sweats
(Uh)
Find your man dead in the trunk of a car
(Uh)
It's Jada responsible for breakin' your heart
(Uh)
Uh

Creep through the streets
For some of y'all rappers, that's mighty hard
Me the Security? Protectin' my body? I let my shotty guard
Put chill pills in brains, bullets like Tylenol
Make niggaz drowsy from the blood loss, got 'em noddin' off

And take casket naps, fuck that you shoulda never let this bastard rap
All I know is cold winter, hot slugs through your snorkel
No parents, tale from my horror's no morals

Raised in the wrong era, with no guidance
So you dyin'? It's no problem, no lyin'
Drag's fire, so ya hamburger beef? I french-fry 'em
To drag done ate your food

Like I know to raise your dukes so guard your chin up
Drag barrels, but shit, I spit-bubble your skin up
Drag scorch niggaz for dinner but season 'em well
I don't brag I let the streets tell po'-po' now you see he fell

Uh, uh, now you motherfuckers
Know what my name means when you hear it in the streets
(Uh)
Y'all bitches fear it cause you weak
You wanna hear it? I make it speak
(What?)
You ain't ever bust a gun, but there's a lot of greasy talkin'
(Uh-huh)
What the science behind that son?
(I don't know)
A lot of easy walkin'

I bust shit down got down kick down shot down
(uh,uh, uh, uh )
Ain't tryin' to talk about what I got now, but I got now
(What)
I ain't never sold a brick, I done stuck niggaz up
(C'mon)
And for talkin' too much shit? I done fucked niggaz up
(Uh)

It can get "Dark" for real, and I think you already know that
(Uh-huh)
Well think about it with the brick in your hand before you throw that
Now don't act, cause actin' might get you rollin'
With what you ain't ready to handle
(Uhh)
All that's left of your memory, is a candle
(Woo!)

It happens quick fast nigga, to bitch ass niggaz
Talkin' reckless behind your back, them kiss ass niggaz
(Uh)
From the rap shit to the street shit, I keep shit tight
Let them cats spit that weak shit
(What)
I'm dog for life, nigga

They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra jails and extra cops
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra pits and extra glocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra chains and extra watches
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)

They gon' need extra guns and extra blocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra jails and extra cops
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra pits and extra glocks
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)
They gon' need extra chains and extra watches
(They wanna Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde, Ruff Ryde)

Play the MP3 online for free!

6769e3850a30d9b086bf78a0068a65f0

Respect - Lyrics - Street Dreams - Fabolous

Title: Respect
Album: Street Dreams
Artist: Fabolous
Composer(s): John Jackson, Laban Reeves

Lyric:
Yea, I ain't scared of you motherfuckers
I ain't no killer right
But y'all niggaz gonna make me one
For real, leave me alone, shit
You fuckin' with the wrong one brother
I'm telling you

I'm sittin' in the crib dreamin' about killin' you
With machine guns, shotties, desert E Dillingers
(Ooh, ooh)
Putting a bullet as big as a battery through a niggaz' anatomy
(Uh, uh)
And watchin' him die slow
You need full clips to push up in the joint
(Uh)
When you in the kinda truck that I push up to the joint
(Uh)
'Cuz these motherfuckers will push him to the point
(Yeah)
That you'll end up locked down doin' push ups in the joint
(Yeah)
But they'll box you in a corner
(Uh, huh)
And you can throw your fists up and act like you a boxer on his corner
(Uh, huh)
Ride wit' ya gun in your glove box instead of on ya
(Uh, huh)
You'll be six feet deep in one of them boxes if you wanna
Not me, I squeeze the clips drop from the handle
(Uhh)
Till your remains is in a urn on top of the mantle
(Uhh)
Till everybody scramble off the block like they Randall
(Run)
Till there's a mural on your block and some candles
Who wanna die?

I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' punk
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' chump
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' clown
(Uhh)
'Cuz I'm a have to kill someone just to get some respect

My Teflons will have you screamin' like Wyclef Jean
(Huh)
(Someone please call 911)
But if they ever get the watch on my left arm


I'm a have more buried than that guy Stephon
(Uh, huh)
First they put that white seed over you brother
(Yeah)
Then the newspapers put you all over the cover
(Yeah)
Then you in a suit one hand cross over the other
(Yeah)
Next you in the earth with the dirt over your brother
A tinted hearse is what most men leave in
(Uh, huh)
Followed by a limo full of family and close friends grievin'
When you pull the Marijuana
I'm a wanna kill you as bad as the Terminator wanted Sarah Connor
(Uh, uh)
But I'm losin' my patience
Fuck it, send me to the island I could use a vacation
Now it's easy for me to understand
How you could just kill a man
(Uhh)

I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' punk
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' chump
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' clown
'Cuz I'm a have to kill someone just to get some respect
(Uhh)

I'd rather be judged by twelve
Than carried by the six
(Yeah)
My gun ain't on my man, or carried by my chicks
(Uh)
My gun ain't in my crib or carried in the six
(Uh, huh)
If I'm right here nigga, then this right here nigga
Picture me putting my hearse
Like I ain't gotta a clip full of hollow tips to put in these jerks
I might as well put in the work
Spit 'em up outta here and get 'em up outta here
I got the juice like Bishop had wit' him
(Uh, huh)
That just don't give a fuck, semi
Like ol' Dog had wit' him
(Uh)
I'm sayin' prayers for my enemy
(Uh)
I hope God bless him before the fucker run into me
I dunno what the fuck has got into me
(Uh)
But I know I don't want them slugs goin' into me
(Uh)
I'm just tryin' to live my life
(Yeah)
So niggaz better give me my respect or give me life
(Uhh)

I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' punk
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' chump
I don't wanna kill no one but I ain't no motherfuckin' clown
'Cuz I'm a have to kill someone just to get some respect

Look what you made me do man
Look what you made me do man
I ain't wan' it to come to this, right?
But fuck it
Niggaz will push you to that point, man
Niggaz will play with you so fuckin' much, man
Aggravate you so fuckin' much, man
You wanna kill a nigga, man
Yeah

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368b761be1b58e032eac147daa30b070

You Really Got A Hold On Me - Lyrics - The Capitol Albums Vol. 1 [BOX SET] - Beatles

Title: You Really Got A Hold On Me
Album: The Capitol Albums Vol. 1 [BOX SET]
Artist: Beatles
Composer(s): William Robinson

Lyric:
I don't like you but I love you
Seems that I'm always thinking of you
Oh ho ho, you treat me badly
I love you madly, you've really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me

Baby, I don't want you but I need you
Don't want to kiss you but I need to
Oh ho ho, you do me wrong now
My love is strong now, you've really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me

Baby, I love you and all I want you to do
Is just hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me
Tighter, tighter

I want to leave you, don't want to stay here
Don't want to spend another day here
Oh ho ho, I want to split now
I just can quit now, you've really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me

Baby, I love you and all I want you to do
Is just hold me, please, hold me, squeeze, hold me, hold me

You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me
You really got a hold on me

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cb548687292b1a16988091cc2db45ca3

Heat - Lyrics - Get Rich Or Die Tryin' - 50 Cent

Title: Heat
Album: Get Rich Or Die Tryin'
Artist: 50 Cent
Composer(s): Tom Jr Coster, Mike Elizondo, Curtis Jackson, Andre Young

Lyric:
{Aye you want some of this shit
Naw, I don't want that shit
I don't give a fuck, I don't play dat shit
And I'm fin'nin' to buss a cap in a nigga
Man shut the fuck up}

{Slow down, slow down, slow down
You see that brick house right there
That's the nigga crib when he come out
You gotta tighten his ass up
I?m a get in the other car, aight}

If there's beef, cock it and dump it
The drama really means nothing to me
I'll ride by and blow ya brains out
There's no time to cock it
No way you can stop it
When niggas run up on you wit them thangs out

I do what I gotta do, I don't care I if get caught
The DA can play this motherfuckin' tape in court
I'll kill you, I ain't playin'
Hear what I'm sayin', homie I ain't playin?
Catch you slippin', I?ma kill you, I ain't playin?
Hear what I'm sayin?, homie I ain't playin?

Keep thinkin' I'm candy till ya fuckin' skull get popped
And ya brain jump out the top like Jack-in-da-box
In the hood summer time is the killing season
It's hot out this bitch that's a good 'nuff reason

I've seen gangsta's get religious when they start bleedin'
Sayin?, "Lord, Jesus help me" ?cuz they ass leakin'
When they window roll down and that A.K. come out
You can squeeze ya ill handgun until you run out

And you can run for ya back-up
But them machine gun shells gone tear ya back up
God's on ya side, shit I'm aight wit that
?Cause we gon? reload them clips and come right back

It's a fact homie, you go against me ya fucked
I get the drop, if you can duck, ya luckier then Lady Luck
Look nigga, don't think you safe ?cause you moved out the hood
?Cuz ya momma still around dog, and daddy ain't good

If you was smart you'd be shook of me
?Cuz I'd get tired of lookin' for ya
Spray ya momma crib
And let ya ass look for me

If there's beef, cock it and dump it
The drama really means nothing to me
I'll ride by and blow ya brains out
There's no time to cock it
No way you can stop it
When niggas run up on you wit them thangs out

I do what I gotta do, I don't care I if get caught
The DA can play this motherfuckin? tape in court
I'll kill you, I ain't playin?
Hear what I'm sayin?, homie I ain't playin?
Catch you slippin', I?ma kill you, I ain't playin?
Hear what I'm sayin?, homie I ain't playin?

My heart bleeds for you nigga, I can't wait to get to you
Behind that twinkle in ya eyes, I can see the bitch in you
Nigga you know the streets talk
So they'll be no white flags and no peace talks

I got my back against the wind
I'm down to ride till the sun burn out
If I die today
I'm happy how my life turned out

See the shootouts that I've been in I'm by myself
Locked up I was in a box by myself
I done made myself a millionaire by myself
Now, shit changed motherfucker I can hire some help

I done heard about the 50 grand you put in the hood
But ya shooter fin?nin? to get get shot it won't do 'em no good
With a pistol I define the definition of pain
If you survive ya bones'll still fuckin' hurt when it rains

Oh you a pro at playin? battleship well this ain't the same
Lil' homie this is a whole different type of war game
See the losers and up in shackles of motherfuckin? chains
Or laid out in the streets leakin' out they brains

If there's beef, cock it and dump it
The drama really means nothing to me
I'll ride by and blow ya brains out
There's no time to cock it
No way you can stop it
When niggas run up on you wit them thangs out

I do what I gotta do, I don't care I if get caught
The DA can play this motherfuckin? tape in court
I'll kill you, I ain't playin?
Hear what I'm sayin?, homie I ain't playin?
Catch you slippin', I?ma kill you, I ain't playin?
Hear what I'm sayin?, homie I ain't playin?

After the fist fights, it's gunfire boy, you get the best of me
If you don't wanna get shot, I suggest you don't go testin' me
All the wrong I've done, the Lord still keep on blessin' me
Fin?nin? to run rap 'cuz Dr. Dre got the recipe

Yeah, uh ha, aye Dre
You got me feelin' real bulletproof up in this motherfucker
?Cuz my windows on my motherfuckin? Benz is bulletproof nigga
?Cuz my motherfuckin? vest is bulletproof nigga
?Cuz my motherfuckin? hat is bulletproof nigga
But the Doc said if I get hit I might get a fuckin' concussion
Better that then a hole in the head right nigga, heh heh ha ha

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fda8a026508af337fc5261c0a031dfb0

Tha Bullet - Lyrics - Celly Cel

Title: Tha Bullet
Artist: Celly Cel
Composer(s): Kenneth Darnell Franklin, Marceles Mccarver

Lyric:
Sittin on the shelf, they got me stuck up in this box
Choppin it up with the homies, havin visions of a glock 17
Niggas on my team can't wait to fill clip up
We jumpin out the barrel with my niggas, shootin shit up
See under niner ross, black talon, hollow tips flow
Aim me at the chest, I'm makin sure that vest don't get no love
Ain't even breathin, leave the body shittin like a seagull
See I'm illegal, I got pockets like that eagle
Fuckin around with me is danger, I'm talkin shit
Tryin to brainwash the trigger when I'm in the chamber
Don't give a fuck if it's a accident or on purpose
When I'm comin out the chamber, fool it's just inservice
Don't get nervous when you see what I do
I love to hit the target, and when I'm breakin that skin, ooh
Travel through his heart, ricoch?t off the nearest bone
Rip his insides up, shatter his spine, now I'm gone
Layin by the body, waitin for the FEDS
Swoop me up for evidence, then I'm just some melted led
It ain't no thang, got me back where I started
In a box, with my homies, waitin for my next target

Ha ha ha, the mothafuckin bullet
Shootin up shit everywhere
Every city in every state
Don't give a fuck about who when the bullet fly
The only thought that's on my mind is, die nigga, die
Ha ha ha

But what do ya know, looks like I'm 'bout to be purchased again
I seen a nigga ask for them black talons and grin
It won't be long 'til they let me loose
Got me in the clip, drinkin Gin with no fuckin juice
It's goin down, I know they ridin on some fools tonight
Hit the lights, squeeze the trigger, send me on my flight
Don't give a fuck about who I hit when I fly
The only thought that's on my mind is, die nigga, die
Women and children and babies, I know it's crazy
See I'm a bullet, it's my job, man that shit don't faze me
Even the hand that's on the trigger get shot too
Wherever the barrel aiming at, that's who I end up smokin fool
Don't get it twisted, I got no love for none of y'all
Got to dig a tunnel through your head, and watch the body fall
Just shoot and I'mma do the rest
I love givin young niggas cardiac arrests
Bullet proof niggas, I go up in 'em quickly
The ambulance picked him up with shit all in his Dickies
Just cock the glock, put your finger on the trigger, pull it
And make a mothafucka feel the bullet

Ha ha ha, yeah
Another victim of these mothafuckin bullets
Once we pull the trigger, don't get nervous
'Cause it's instant mothafuckin service
Ha ha ha, yeah
Breakin fools off every mothafuckin day
Ha ha ha

Up out the chamber, it's that sneaky mothafucka creepin
You heard a shot but didn't know until the blood was leakin
Up out your chest, you seen your flesh was a bloody mess
Dropped down on your knees, and ran outta breath
Sentanced to your death
Got hit by the wig splittin, shirt rippin, pistol wippin nigga
Catchin 'em slippin when they set trippin
Dippin and dabbin, you niggas know who I am, and
Can't be fuckin with them faulty heaters that be jammin
I love to fly and when they jam, I can't come out and kick it
Just pick a target, point me at it and see how quick I hit it
Droppin bodies by the dozens, in and out your cousins
I'm burnin niggas like a oven, givin up no lovin
With my dogs, ridin in a 50 round clip
Ready to make the hit, talkin long shit, bitch
Hit the floor before I hit the door and split ya with some heat
Take your head and leave your body in the street
As I creep, up on my next mothafuckin victim
Sweep him off his feet, pull the trigger, let me sick him
Hit him high, hit him low, you know how it go
Put your finger on the trigger, pull it, the mothafuckin bullet

Ha ha ha, the mothafuckin bullet
Mobbin through your hood and takin head
Showin no mothafuckin remorse
We don't give a fuck about you
The bullet, ha ha ha
Sprayin up shit everywhere we go
Don't give a fuck, layin men 6 feet on the regular
Ha ha ha

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Cry Babies - Lyrics - Ludacris

Title: Cry Babies
Artist: Ludacris
Composer(s): Chris Bridges, Kaseem Dean

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Lyric:
Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

I got people scared as fuck like when condoms break
Or how your heart deals with eatin' eighty pounds of steak
So put your belly on a plate and watch your weight
You frostin' like a flake and Ludacris feels great

Who want come face me, face come want who?
And women give me face until they're face turns blue
They can't breathe, dick to mouth resuscitation
A tight squeeze witch stops the length to conversations

I play stations, duck cops and lose agents
I'm doctor love, I close curtains and fuck patients
When I kick and rip and flip an indispensable rhyme
My black ass is so hungry I'll take a bite out of crime

And it'll hurt if I swallow, but even more if I choke
Neighbors called the fire station off the blunt that I smoke
You see I crush cowards, funerals I'll send flowers
And I'm on the overpass flick pennies at rush hour

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

You see I'm ambidextrous, I slap ass with both hands
Delete your first steps, but I'll save the last dance
I just bought some new guns my mama said "It ain't worth it"
But I'm at the shooting range just 'cause practice makes perfect

Bullseye, I stunt growth and stop lives
And you run with niggas that's more chicken then pot pies
I'm shakin' your tale feathers
I got big balls, I'm a Sac King like Chris Webber

Luda' will take you back to duck hunt and double dribble
When niggas sold quarters and dimes and smoked nickels
My cars got big TV's and satellites
I got a wheel of fortune 'cause I flipped O's like Vanna White

And the survey says? Kill a muthafucka now
Could it be off with his head? Or shoot a muthafucka down
Ground round, ground chuck your ground beef
Bullets gather round then I shoot rounds around teeth

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

I kick niggas in they're ass reboot 'em like laptops
And they wouldn't even box if I gave 'em a flat top
You punks pucker and pout, bicker and babble
Now they all lost for words like I beat 'em in scrabble

You see I'm from a small town called "Fresh out a cop's ass"
Where Mr. Head-potatoes are skinned they get mashed
I smell puss from fifty yards, y'all not playin' with full decks
As if I jacked out ya jacks and left fifty cards

Catch me in Vegas spinnin' the green
I re-up with more chips than a vending machine
Then you can catch me in Rome mackin' some brauds and sticking 'em
And you'll be at home picking your bougars and flicking 'em

A drug dealer's dream, so fresh and I'm so clean
I'm a grown ass man and you're sweeter than sixteen
So go and kick rocks peons you're just rookies
Headed down stairs to get you some milk and cookies

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Oh no, I caught him with a blow to the chest
Oh no, my hollow put a hole in his vest
Oh no, I'm 'bout to send two to his dome
Oh no, cry babies go home

Play the MP3 online for free!

3d6e1b361061b7e5b5136f8e5236083c