Gangstas
DPGC. Gangstas (Ha,ha)
Look here, you got three crazy muthafuckas
In the same place at the same time
(Yeah, Master P)
You know this shit gon be off the hook
(It's gonna be the wildest shit you ever heard.)
For my bitches down south
Southern hospitality
(Representin, ya heard me!)
From the cold, hard streets of the LBC
To a duet with Mystikal and Master P
Real ship keys and shoot dice on their knees
And put pistols to the mouths, of their enemies
Old country ass nigga with a gold in the front
Be the same muthafucka that get your bitch ass stomped
Underestimatin hatin got you knocked out cold
Tryin to play my boy over, you was with your ho
Them South niggas banging off the shit that we write
Punk niggas get killed, straight on sight
No Limit ain't no gimmick
It's tragic you know, so don't be meddlin with my boy and my ho
Lay low, hit the floor, I'm back
Yo P, take me to the streets, that's where my heart is at
You make em say ughhhhhhh!
I make em say beeyatch
Together we can flip the script and get grip
You got the crack, I got the bud sack
Mystikal, smack, you got the strap
Deep in that gangsta shit on a night like that
You blast me, I blast you back, beeyatch!
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Got this fuckin party popping;
You cappin and army bragging;
Gon keep smugglin in this game shit
Niggas ain't rapping; what you say about gangsta rapping;
You get killed forever, my nigga, every day
Where you get fucked up nigga, is where you lay
Time again I tried to tell you, but you ain't wanna heard what I say
Damn leather dog bombing;
Done made a mistake
We made (ghrrh) sound so good
Keep that gangsta shit banging up and down your hood
Cause only real gangstas get down and to the bottom
Where all going, that much, we"ll see right through ya
I'll out hustle ya, can't put up a fight cause I out muscle ya
My really don't give a fuck attitude got ya feeling uncomfortable
I got that there, nigga you ain't saying shit
I'm colder than a brand new pair of Stan Smiths
Fresher than a whole box of green Altimos
But I got to blow your head off and put bullet holes in your Girbauds
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
B-O-U-T we bout it
Real gangstas live muthafucking rowdy
And where you from is how you come
Where you be or you're at
Fool, watch your back for these gangstas in that black from
Long Beach to New Orleans, from every nigga in the hood to the
Penitentiary
Tryna, survive on these streets
Slanging dope cause the kids gotta eat
Put it in a car or a plane, Grey Hound or a train
Sixty five when it came, eighty nine when it lay
I'm in love with miss mo mo, candy painted four
Twenty skirt with convertible, fucking polo
Bring the stylins of your talk
I mean real gangstas don't talk
Free your mind and refugee
Alive and turn your cheeks like Pras be
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Look here, you got three crazy muthafuckas
In the same place at the same time
(Yeah, Master P)
You know this shit gon be off the hook
(It's gonna be the wildest shit you ever heard.)
For my bitches down south
Southern hospitality
(Representin, ya heard me!)
From the cold, hard streets of the LBC
To a duet with Mystikal and Master P
Real ship keys and shoot dice on their knees
And put pistols to the mouths, of their enemies
Old country ass nigga with a gold in the front
Be the same muthafucka that get your bitch ass stomped
Underestimatin hatin got you knocked out cold
Tryin to play my boy over, you was with your ho
Them South niggas banging off the shit that we write
Punk niggas get killed, straight on sight
No Limit ain't no gimmick
It's tragic you know, so don't be meddlin with my boy and my ho
Lay low, hit the floor, I'm back
Yo P, take me to the streets, that's where my heart is at
You make em say ughhhhhhh!
I make em say beeyatch
Together we can flip the script and get grip
You got the crack, I got the bud sack
Mystikal, smack, you got the strap
Deep in that gangsta shit on a night like that
You blast me, I blast you back, beeyatch!
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Got this fuckin party popping;
You cappin and army bragging;
Gon keep smugglin in this game shit
Niggas ain't rapping; what you say about gangsta rapping;
You get killed forever, my nigga, every day
Where you get fucked up nigga, is where you lay
Time again I tried to tell you, but you ain't wanna heard what I say
Damn leather dog bombing;
Done made a mistake
We made (ghrrh) sound so good
Keep that gangsta shit banging up and down your hood
Cause only real gangstas get down and to the bottom
Where all going, that much, we"ll see right through ya
I'll out hustle ya, can't put up a fight cause I out muscle ya
My really don't give a fuck attitude got ya feeling uncomfortable
I got that there, nigga you ain't saying shit
I'm colder than a brand new pair of Stan Smiths
Fresher than a whole box of green Altimos
But I got to blow your head off and put bullet holes in your Girbauds
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
B-O-U-T we bout it
Real gangstas live muthafucking rowdy
And where you from is how you come
Where you be or you're at
Fool, watch your back for these gangstas in that black from
Long Beach to New Orleans, from every nigga in the hood to the
Penitentiary
Tryna, survive on these streets
Slanging dope cause the kids gotta eat
Put it in a car or a plane, Grey Hound or a train
Sixty five when it came, eighty nine when it lay
I'm in love with miss mo mo, candy painted four
Twenty skirt with convertible, fucking polo
Bring the stylins of your talk
I mean real gangstas don't talk
Free your mind and refugee
Alive and turn your cheeks like Pras be
We bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
We bout to hop off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Know what, we're bout to jump off with some gangsta shit
Gangsta shit!
Credits
Writer(s): Michael Tyler, Calvin Cordazor Broadus, Percy Miller, Craig Stephen Lawson, Craig D. Bazile
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.