Información de la canción En esta página puedes encontrar la letra de la canción Murder That He Ritt, artista - C-Bo. Fecha de emisión: 30.07.2020
Restricciones de edad: 18+
Idioma de la canción: inglés
Murder That He Ritt |
| I don’t know judo |
| But, down with you know |
| Strapped with two Glocks |
| Gone off some Kuno |
| Headed for the house party on the southside |
| Four deep in a ragtop six five |
| Hella bitches (hella bitches) |
| Hanging out the window |
| Killer Cali style from foes that eight fifty-fizzle |
| Hoes don’t stack |
| 'Cause niggas been ballin' crack since the mac (since the mac) |
| Packin' they gat and won’t think twice to bust a cap (buck) |
| Sportin' a brim like, Freddy, Krueger |
| Some drinkin' heavy shooters (shooters) |
| All strapped down with two Rugers (with two rugers) |
| I pull over hit the juice on my ride |
| I got front and back and side to side |
| In murder that he writ |
| (The murder show) |
| The murder that he writ |
| (The murder show) |
| In the murder that he writ |
| I’m a born soldier to these hell made streets |
| In my dreams when my back is turned somebody’s murderin' me (Uhh) |
| I’m waking up in cold sweat |
| Every little noise, I’m hoppin' out the bed reachin' for my tec (tec) |
| And I’m on the streets I’m very high on paranoia |
| Looking for the neighborhood destroyas |
| I’d rather murder than be dead confused |
| Celebratin' my birthday in the news (uhh) |
| I drop tears for my dead homies |
| And did years tryna get my money |
| And pack a tec for you phonies |
| And did mines on my only |
| Turnin' motherfuckers into rest in peace homies |
| (Murder) |
| See, I’m a G from the block and when there’s funk it’s on (it's on) |
| I’ll be the nigga with a strap to your homies dome |
| Headbuttin' |
| Crushing them bones |
| When that HK, Buck 'em (Buck Buck Buck Buck) |
| Sittin' that ass down |
| Retaliatin' be some out of state negroes (negroes) |
| Decapitate and leavin' afros in steel toes (steel toes) |
| Some more, hard, core, killers (killers) |
| Ballin' dope dealers (dope dealers) |
| Klu Klux |
| The real deal’ah |
| Bailin' your hood like thrillah |
| You’re either killa, or vacator get killed by the killa |
| Now what do you prefer? |
| It’s best that you disperse |
| Or be the next verse |
| Now here come' the big gangster |
| Hoppin' out the regal |
| Pants saggin', Fat pockets eagle (fat pockets) |
| Fifty Cali style |
| Stackin' up G’s by the pound |
| Sippin' amaretto (amaretto) |
| Packin' a throwaway beretta |
| And been in it to win it since the beginnin' |
| So when I pose took the slugs with my .44 leaving' niggas froze |
| It’s fuck you ho’s in the mind of a psycho |
| Kickin' off rides when the lights go |
| I did my time on the cell block for sellin' rocks |
| I’d rather let the cops shell shock then get popped |
| So next time I’ll protect mine with my tec-9 |
| Havin' wreck time |
| They can’t check mine |
| 187 killer |