| I put my coke on a digital scale
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| I put my weed on a digital scale
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| I put my dope on a digital scale
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| It’s time to re-up what my scale read
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| We got eightballs, sevens, fourteens, and Oz’s
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| Sixty-two eights of that raw, imported keys
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| Half of chicken whole chicken
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| Niggas got to cop 'n' go, yo
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| I said you niggas got to cop 'n' go
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| This is like fast food, nigga
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| May I take your order?
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| I require nothin' cookin' but bakin' soda 'n' water — ice, cold
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| That’s crack inside that Pyrex
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| We get the work, then move the work
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| The pressure we apply next
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| Every now and then, a nigga set-trip
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| I8 BMW; |
| I’m electric
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| Keep that hammer around me in case shit get hectic
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| Shit pop off when I’m rhymin', I protect it
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| Fuck around
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| Hand me that plastic bag right there, Yayo
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| Baggin' up half a brick
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| My lawyer sittin' on the couch
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| He said it’s cool, Buck; |
| I swear I won’t open my mouth
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| (I weigh a bag on the triple-beam scale)
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| I’m all kushed out, coke under my (fingernail)
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| My uncle been playin' with that powder, and I can tell
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| You know that crack smell, and he lookin' all frail
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| My sister need bail; |
| she just caught the weed sell
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| Now the feds on her trail
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| I just got the email
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| Shit crazy, but I’m still cookin' up babies
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| Hookin' up my niggas daily with this dope
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| Get out and get some, nigga
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| Can’t pay me if you broke, no
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| Let a nigga hang himself — just give him enough rope
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| I get it fresh out the boat
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| Numbers don’t lie; |
| scales don’t either
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| Every time you out, fiends wanna reach ya
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| Out with some bitches, fiends wanna call
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| In the club with my niggas, fiends wanna call
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| When I’m waitin' on them, man they never call
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| The life of a hustler in a nutshell
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| G-5 eatin' snakes, soup and raw fish
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| Snakes see the Ray Phantom off of raw fish
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| My main bitch is like Bonnie Parker
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| My side bitch is like Clyde Barrow
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| They start to shoot you up shit’s creek without a paddle
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| They roll up and smoke you like Kumar and Harold
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| Catch 'em in the whip like Caine cousin, Harold
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| My nigga flippin' on his P.O. |
| cause he can’t travel
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| You owe me, I take your child for collateral
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| Gun wave, hello
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| Shots echo
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| Won’t save money — switch to gecko
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| You known from the get-go
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| I ain’t 'bout to let nobody play with my green
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| When they coward belly yellow
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| Polka-dot carbine on your chest, screamin' «hold on»
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| Hold on
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| You see my face and let go
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| I’m from the N.O.; |
| better check the death toll
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| You was playin' Casanova
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| Cookin' bitches casserole
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| I was on the ave with O’s, me and red taggin' toes
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| On the Greyhound bus
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| Pounds in my baggy clothes
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| Huh |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Digital Scale , by - G-Unit. Song from the album The Beauty Of Independence, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп