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underground kingz - that's why i carry كلمات الأغنية

bun b:

man, all these m-th-f-ckin’ n-gg-s out here…
man, you know what i’m sayin’?
everytime i try to go somewhere
i got plex from these lil’ sorry, punk, p-ssy, no good hatin’
you know what i’m sayin’?
every single day, man… start sh-t, man
i get lot a plex on these streets, baby… know what i’m sayin’?
i’m lookin’ at h-town’s north and the southside doin’ it.
in p.a., you know what i’m sayin’, in port a, ’cause you know…
even the east coast and the west coast got the plex, man
man, y’all bettah keep yo’ distance, man
i’m tellin’ you it’s real.

bun b:

my n-gg-, you done pushed the wrong b-tton
i ain’t never ran this hot.
now you the number one n-gg-
i wanna whoop the p-ss out.
and this not a threat, bet that
i ain’t gonna let that slide,
gotta get that b-tch right,
want him dead by midnight.
i followed him from his crib to the crack spot;
i watched him go in and come back out
i got ready to pull the mac out.
sandwiched him by the feeder of 610,
unloaded the pistol, now dirt is now what his d-ck in.
sh-t, i seen a slab get stripped:
the discs, seats, and sound gone,
and candy paint burnt to a crisp.
these n-gg-s gettin’ hated on
for the ’84s that they skated on.
jackers in the dark alley waited on
the fool comin’ out the gamblin’ shack
pistol to his back, took 4 ounces of crack,
and a fat dozier sack.
that’s why i pack, my n-gg-
that’s why i pray, ’cause where i stay
i got to carry my m-th-f-ckin’ gun every single day.

chorus: (x4)

motherf-ckers wanna start sh-t in every way
that’s why i carry my m-th-f-ckin’ gun
every single day.

pimp c:

the p-l-e-x is crowdin’ all my sp-ce;
’bout to pop this m-th-f-ckah ’cause he standin’ in my place.
he sellin’ on my block,
jackin’ from my boys,
they comin’ on our side throwin’ down and talkin’ noise.
now, i occupy my time hustlin’ and gettin’ paid.
he occupyin’ his time tryin’ to get boys for they blades…
gettin’ ’em for they chevy ‘burbans.
they jumpin’ out a who doos
comin’ down swingin’, jumpin’ out of candy blues,
talkin’ ’bout give it up smooth.
baby boy, it’s some hatin’ goin’ on in p.a.,
mostly over stanky b-tches, and who sold the most yay.
n-gg-s stuntin’, pullin’ pistols endin’ up in the grave.
when i pull i always pop, that’s why i’m livin’ today.
girl–ss n-gg-s causin’ plex between friends;
and, when you bust on your boy,
don’t neither one a y’all n-gg-s win.
you end up killin’ somebody that you ain’t really ain’t wanna kill
over a p-ssy–ss n-gg- that’s showin’ ho-type skills.

chorus: (x4)

bun b:

comin’ from the small town of madness
late night us all murd’rers
playa-hated, scandalous hoes, and ‘lac-drivin’ slab hurters,
acted bad after 8.
you can catch us on the late,
rollin’ dice, blowin’, and sippin’ on the bar straight.
we got the red drank, orange drank, purple drank
laughin’ at these mark hoes
that say they never heard a drank.
half-gallon big gulp, big red, big cup, drink mixed up,
blowin’ sweets, and lightin’ sticks up.
now, in my new world slow down i can see
n-gg-s talkin’ sh-t,
tryin’ to see if what they said got to me;
but, hoe-wearin’ type of skills say a lot to me.
you jus’ gon’ f-ck around and get yourself shot to be, or not to be.
m-th-f-ckas plot to see me crack
under pressure so they just impress a n-gg- to see me react.
these n-gg-s try to stare me down like a scary clown.
don’t dare me, ’round
here we f-ck your game up like larry brown;
and, carry pounds a killer ’round like groceries,
with a prescence that make you not
wanna stand close to me.
talkin’ ’bout we supposed to be brothers
don’t make me laugh, m-th-f-ckers, you chose to be
on the side opposin’ me.
don’t matter what coast ya’ be from
bun and c ‘ll light your world up explosively.

chorus: (x12)

- underground kingz

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