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brotha lynch hung - get bacc time كلمات الأغنية

[d-mn n-gg- what you been doin’?]
i’m still walkin’ this walk n-gg-
[uh, heard that sh-t]
so watch out
[verse 1]
see you know us n-gg-, we run up in ya house
run up in ya room and put the gun up in ya mouth
next thing you know, you just one up in a pouch
that’s what you f-ckin’ wid when you come up in the south
i spit slugs, i be off them drugs kick it wid thug n-gg-s
plug n-gg-s, with blood on the rug
n-gg- we got gut splitters and shovels we gravediggers
wid troublesome ways and we bubble some days and some days
we shovel ya grave and we wrinkle ya page
we got shooters on the team like the lakers we post up
and then bake ’em wid the toaster
from long distance or close up
we send ’em heat rocks, put ’em up under the sheetrock
cheap talk, makin’ all the streets hot
with the heat from the glock
and i pop holes in ya chevy block
and i pop those if ya ready or not get set go
burn you with the petrol, wet those n-gg-s wid cold showers
crept on them n-gg-s and they laid out wid gun powder
that’s one route i’m full of them scams
pull and advance through your livin’ room window
then i’m leavin’ wid blood on my hands
i’m a nympho, murder ya kinfolks two to the temple
lay ’em on the ground from the five pound it’s that simple
you know me n-gg-, i stay up in the cut
every chance i get i get way up in a sl-t
every once in a while i gotta touch a n-gg- up
so i hit the bomb and split ya palm wid paper cuts
i’m a oven when it comes to this thuggin’ i spit fire
chop ya lil rhymes to bits, ’til i’m tired
of the ecstacy and ‘yac and kool-aid n-gg- i’m wired
i’m a sicc n-gg- i rip out ya bottom teeth wid the pliers
and i’m tired, of the rumors i disconnect, the tuner
i hit ya neck wid the ruger and get respect this a shooter
and ya knew the, sh-t like this, fool you better back up
tuck n-gg-s up like b-ttercups somebody better get yo stuff
[hook]
cause it’s get bacc time
eye for an eye tooth for tooth
this ain’t just no rhyme
somebody gotta die and that’s the truth
ya shouldn’ta spit that line
now look at ya hidin’ in ya coupe
cause it’s get bacc time
it ain’t gonna be us so it’s gotta be you
it’s like four plus four n-gg-
this sh-t easy as addition
to get back n-gg-s and have ’em missin’
wha-what what to strip wack n-gg-s and have ’em drippin’
plugged for crossin’ love when my thug bring y’all the endin’
[x2]
[verse 2]
please believe it, it happens daily
make b-tch n-gg-s have my babies (then what?)
f-ck ’em in the -ss give ’em rabies
tuck ’em in the gr-ss i’m off the shady o-eighty
wid the salt shaker tryna eat n-gg-s up like
stanley dean bacon killer slash make me sh-llin’ out
she loves me loves me not, slugs be hot
run up in yo million dollar spot
and get the, drugs and glocks and i leave the
bl–dy rug spots and i get the
money powder and the ice and i’m from the
nutty blocc hit the lights and i’m ’bout to
get the kids and the wife and i’m ’bout to
hold ’em hostage if i don’t get what i want
cut ’em up in little sausages, wreckless how lynch is
you want no vengeance, my sh-t spit fine lines in yo extensions
it grips like a tiger so it ain’t no sensin’
tryna get away i been dyin’ to get a day to touch you up
i mean hire motherf-ckers that’ll f-ck you up
wire motherf-ckers all for the wet
i be shootin’ that twelve guage offa the steps
n-gg- off wid ya neck, ever since then, plottin’ ya death
get caught in your lex take a quick wind get shot in the chest
get ya cops and the tec, cause ever since then
nothin’ll rest ’til they gettin’ locked in the pen
c-ckin’ a tec, poppin’ the gin, quick to hide ’til ya set
see i’m at it again not ’til ya sweatin’
it’s not under ya neck it’s over ya head
it’s over ya dead stood over ya bed pointin’ a tec
four to ya head jumped in the nova and fled
i’m like a motherf-ckin’ gangsta
b-tch -ss n-gg- i cut off ya middle finger
[hook x1]
[verse 3]
like d-m-x i’m a ruff ryder, leave ya tied up
wid ya nuts fried up
i’m the n-gg- that creep when it’s dark in the sky
parkin’ the ride and then dartin’ inside
ya spot wid automatic toys n-gg- this sparkin’ a riot
good sh-t better hide behind ya boys
n-gg- add gas to the flames then
blast at ya main land, switch ya whole game plan
leavin’ bl–dy stains and wid enough n-gg- nuts and guts and
(where?) bodies in the hudson i keep it bustin’ and bustin’
i’m the medicine man like robitussin
hold ya huffin’ and puffin’ before i
split ya tongue wid the jack knife better act right
and attack right now if you wanna get the hung i split ya lung
if you lookin’ for some of that sicc sh-t this the one
if you lookin’ for some of that shoot ’em up kill ’em up
better get ya gun, young -ss rappers
i’m like r.kelly i f-ck the young in this rap game
c-m on ya belly c-m on ya tongue
sh-t i’m one of the ones blowin’ you up eatin’ you up and then
throwin’ you up knowin’ you sucked big fat nut n-gg-
[hook x1]

- brotha lynch hung

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