 |
South Park Mexican Hillwood Revenge Thanks to Ltsjet@aol.com for these lyrics. First Verse: My homie called me in the morning from a hospital bed He got holes in his body from a glock full of lead He said, three motherfuckers that his lady knows Tried to jack his ass for his 84's Now in a Ben Taub sick bed, my homie lays up He got sprayed up, cuz he wouldn't raise Caught three of the seven of the shots that rang Them folks sayin' that he'd never walk the same It sounds like a job for the uzi gat And where the fuck did your bitch say these fools be at? For a real long time, we been the best of friends And I'll be damned if a nigga don't get revenge I feel anger, that I'm no stranger to Bustin' slugs in they guts just a thang to do Why they pray for you, come and spray they crew Got love for my homies, I thought you knew? He said "Los don't sweat it, let this shit alone," but with these punk motherfuckers I must pick a bone Now will it be the cranium or the chest plate? Necks break back, snap, put him in checkmate Lead take me to vengeance, send this Ripping through tendons I end this Because you bleed inside and it hurts to cough I can't take no advice I gots to break them off Chorus: Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta do, What my friends, would do for me, You muthafuckas gotta beg, Y'all askin' for action, Eat a fuckin' K, I'm blastin' some asses Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta do, What my friends, would do for me, You muthafuckas gotta beg, Y'all askin' for action, Eat a fuckin' K, I'm blastin' some asses Second Verse: My niggas check me, I'm thinkin' of a master plan I'm straight up blastin' glocks, them fuckin' bastards ran I'm steady missin' all my homies that done bit the dust Got revenge cuz them bitches wasn't shit to us Now what the fuck can I accomplish? And when I'm dead, will I find myself on God's list? Every night I give, thanks I wouldn't die today Turnin' cane into crack and my mic away We dealin' cuz we feelin' that the, pay's right Hopin' Mama never see me at my, grave site No daylight, play night cautiously Could be death, or my freedom what it's costin' me Lost in dear life my wife be that Mary Jane And my streets got me strollin' blueberry Lane Very same song sung in the South From the mouth of a hustler, never have I trusted a Trick or a hoe or a dope fiend either Cuz they smoke like a beaver buildin' dams on the river Live a, life of a "G' til' the d - a - y Hittin' switches on the freeway high Don't reply cuz me don't give a fuck What you hoes got to say about me Hillwood funk Chorus Third Verse: Stop short in your tracks Gats got the place surrounded Sounded two warning shots, fuck on up and you'll be grounded Pounded bodies with a bunch of twelve gauges Now her face is too straight in the fuckin' dog cages Pages of my book, turn like the wind blows On the paper of a crook, muthafuck them hoes Hittin' flows as a hustler, rose as a "G" Saves his flows to big 8, now he scores half a ki Some say in his head he got insanity inside But all it really be is mathematically inclined Look behind, you might find others takin' over Rookies movin' cookies, they whipped in baking soda Baby learn the fuckin' rules, my cheese, is SOLID AS A ROCK With my homies and we BALLIN' WITH A GLOCK Tenderoni phony fraud motherfuckers Best to get out the game, 'fore you die motherfuckers Bustas trust us, but us hustlas trust no one You can sure run with no gun That be a nigga slow guns So roll one of them sweets Chug-a-lug on the eightball And see where this motherfuckin life is gonna take y'all And haters might fall Chorus |
Videos
|
Add
All lyrics are property and copyright of their owners. All lyrics provided for educational purposes only.
Copyright © 2007-2009 LyricWorld.com, LoiNhac.com
© 2009 lyricworld.com, loinhac.com are two of a family of companies in the LmVN Group.