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on dek - like me lyrics
[intro: don cannon]
two people i never was a n-gg- like me and b-tch i needed
og bush taught us get it out the mud and hold your own
sleep is for the weak. we realize you can’t go to the bank
and deposit excuses. so, we took that motto and made a team full of kings
[chorus: spade-o]
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’
tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ ride wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
[verse 1: spade-o]
i ain’t never run and i never will
in front of the club, i got my shooters in another wheel
sh-t, i’m just tryna make a couple mill, cut a couple deals
pay a couple bills
they still hating on a pimp for no f-cking reason
they locking hoes in the crib, it must be cuffing season
scrolling down my timeline, must be sucka season
where i meet them at is right where i f-cking leave them
i’m (?) f-cks given
come to my hood and i’ma show how the f-ck i’m living
they liked me more when my black -ss was stuck in prison
the cls the new edition; no michael bivens
mr. telephone man, i’m on my marlo stansfield
the telephone jammed
my man got a dime for a telephone scam
my line say they’re on their way, when the h-ll they gon’ land?!
[chorus: spade-o]
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’
tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ ride wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
[verse 2: spade-o]
i call my n-gg- (?), young (?) mims
throw on my black boots and my shooter tims
where k.dot? where teefy at? where (?) or stafh?
where reefy at?
i got my youngin’ (?) he’ll drop your top
i’ll just make a phone call and he’ll drop your top
streetsweeper, come from bristol with a streetsweeper
and his youngin’ got a pistol full of heat seekers
wait till’ my n-gg- (?) from the berry touch
if he find out that i don’t like you very much
it ain’t a whole bunch of rap dawg, you’re getting touched
cuz, if we don’t bury you, you gon’ bury us
my n-gg- capo and pop from the dirty block
my n-gg- na obama got a 30 shot
i say one word, my youngins’ come from blumberg
f-ck them pistols dawg, we coming with that drum work!
[chorus: spade-o]
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’
tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many n-gg-s’ gon’ ride wit a n-gg- like me!
now, tell me how many b-tches gon’ rock wit a n-gg- like me!
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