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craig mack - on da run كلمات الأغنية

eh yo, god bless the dead, ya know?
and all my cats i know with the football jerseys on: dont have no regrets
hold them numbers
big up to the feds who tried to catch me in 88, n-gg-

ha! funk flav, mr. mack

eh yo, i cant face going to jail
cuz my life is bullsh-t, man, n-gg- f-ck paying bail
sh-t is on the third rail
on my tail is the feds, baby, frank? for club med
n-gg-z wanna kill me, god
scared i might wrap these n-gg-z
entrap these n-gg-z
if the feds wasnt watching i would clap these n-gg-z
i mean put a bullet through the f-ckin back of these n-gg-z
phone ringing off the hook, probably tapped my n-gg-z
see the headlines now: “mack found in 5 rivers”
fdr, thinkin was it better when i didnt buy the car
didnt cop the bar, didnt buy my girl mother a new jaguar
sh-t, my moms got the continental r with the backseat bar
talkin about “my sons a star”
little do she know i’m caesar and world?
crack is dead, i’m sellin x instead
b-tches in my bed will fill your -ss with lead
keep givin me head ’til the tip turns red
sit back and watch me b-tter this bread

on the run
best three words to describe my life, make the game my wife
on the run
hustler, born and raised, in the streets where i spent my days

i told my main chick, pack your bags, she ain’t listen
chrome started whistling and turned her christian
blew up the whole house using nitro-glycerin
but the expedition in the garage was missing
moved the nannies and the kids to a new position
intuition gave me suspicion
sh-t is murder, do i kill myself and f-ck them n-gg-z’ satisfaction
or demand action, pull out toast and start blasting
young n-gg-z asking, wise cats only give a fraction
streets is the young man’s attraction
i dug myself into a hole
into a world thats cold
pimps, players, b-tches, ballers, hustlers, drugs, guns and thugs
million dollar homes, like capone’s, persian rugs
gentlemen with fake hugs, turn to slugs
i’m a made man, paid man, show no love
clock’s ticking, plot thicken, probably written in a book somewhere
my f-ckin life ain’t fair
see either way, i’ma make it off this earth without a trace
so if i ever see the judge, i’ma spit in the b-tch face

eh yo, f-ggots
nah i’m sayin, all you sweet cats, nahmean?
real gentleman dont need it

its strictly drive-thru window meals
enemies lurking every crack and crevice, eating rocks for bre

- craig mack

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