Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song RAL Mafia, artist - Yukmouth. Album song 18k - The Golden Era: Disc 2, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.11.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Smoke-A-Lot
Song language: English
RAL Mafia |
I live the life of a hoodlum |
Take ten paces, turn around and shoot 'em |
Concrete Budda |
We threw 'em in the creak to loose 'em |
Streets polluted with drugs |
Salute 'em with thugs |
We used to |
Sleep on a rug |
A momma never said she loved |
Or hugged us |
It’s just us, me and my two sisters |
I’m too whooshes |
Plus new bushes |
With .22's up in the bushes |
We ride, G’s |
Menace to societies |
The real shit |
Fuck a movie, the village |
We filled with Chinese |
Essays, Niggas, Cambodians |
Or go against the police |
Thugged Out like Napolean |
Grab the milli, from my belly, catch new welly |
Slugs in your Pelle Pelle, smell me |
Since Makaveli died, it’s like the Westcoast shit died |
But Régime be the realest shit alive |
Ride or die |
So high am I, Nigga you can’t tell from the eyes |
Blood shot red |
The feds gettin' bread from the pies |
Wiseguys cops risk lay-off to stay off the block |
Transportin' drop the Yay off |
You paid off the top |
Smoke-A-Lot popular on the lock |
For flippin' birds like Nadia |
Mafia, Rap-A-Lot Mafia |
My Nigga, my Nigga |
I’m here to say to |
You try to tell it |
Can even spell it |
It’s about respect |
For God knows you was talking too |
And the slap came |
We be the realest motherfuckers in the Rapgame |
Rap-A-Lot Mafia, you ain’t ready for what we got for ya |
I make a motherfucker doctor ya |
See, it ain’t all about records |
We run the motherfuckin' streets in Houston, Texas |
We mobilize and we been rated high |
Our adversaries die, when our pull a fry, bullets fly |
Like some motherfuckin' Blackbirds |
When we ride |
It’s caskets and con words |
Mob Nigga |
Fuck peace |
See it’s all about violence |
Put that Tek to you silent |
Leave you howlin |
I’ma creep upon ya (Yeah) |
I’ma put it on ya (Who) |
Drop bombs on ya like they did in Oklahoma |
See ones that Nigga Yuk, look |
Somebody gon die |
You could took a try |
And kiss that ass goodbye |
You be found in your home Nigga |
Head blown from that Chrome |
Fuck with me, I’m livin' wrong Nigga |
Nigga remember me |
I’m the one, gon get ya |
You better pray that God has switched ya |
Fuckin' round with the Mafia |
You torn blood from you bitches |
Nigga what |
Bustin holes in you bitches |
You better wear you vest, real tight bitch |
The Mafia gonna put it in you life bitch |
Ain’t no motherfucker stoppin' up |
The only bitch puttin' it down with the Mafia |
Rap-A-Lot Mafia |
Niggas sure wonder why I hang with these thugs |
Cause my Nigga Yuk fuckin' these Niggas up |
Nigga, this Rap-A-Lot, Mafia till I die |
Why? |
Because we ride |
Everyday do or die |
Riffles and .45's |
17-shot 9's |
Right up between your eyes |
Niggas is gon die |
Niggas come from the pound |
Hummers and S-S's |
Born to be a killer |
Fill a Nigga |
Body with holes |
Head the toe when he showed up |
Blow up your whole motherfuckin' head, quote us |
And I’ma roll, with my Niggas till the wheels fall |
Clean up the motherfuckin' car |
And in this room we bring the world war |
See the Circlepiece be the satellite |
From the 5th Ward |
Command union, how we do it, how we do it |
From the South |
Texas roll real, swing wide knock 'em out |
Double «0» and Yuk worldwide what you talkin' about |
See the .45's, see the big faces |
Catchin' murder cases, hood erasers |
Paper chasers |
With the 98, sittin' on steakes |
Ballin' in the bay with the Tek to place |
Recognize the Mob bitch |
All day this thug shit |
Blisted up, trigger fingers for Niggas that start shit |
Creep this as I part quick |
Ride dopefiend, will her with a tint |
AK’s and vest’s |
Born in California, killed down in Texas |
Ohoh, slow your roll here come the po-po's |
Anything can happen ridin' through execution capital |
E-Rock the stupid fo', who’s ridin' with this Nigga Yuk |
We the Mafia, squabble the gun |
Played out, droppin' ya |
We mob figgers |
We to take the whole world out |
At 50 states all Black God |
After that, we still gon grind on the side |
To make your motherfuckers mind |
I pop the 9, you pop the 9 |
And all y’all motherfuckers dyin' |
We gon drive by |
We walk up and do these Niggas out the game |
We sell 2 shot, and none left in the chain |
Cause it’s Rap-A-Lot Mafia man |
Is to be fuckin' with man |
Watch who you talk to |
We kill |
If that’s what it’s brought down to |
Off with his motherfuckin' head with the lead |
Dead leave his Hilfiger shirt all red |
Said it’s motherfucker locked in your spot |
Shot’s will be dropped, right here, right now |
Paw, Niggas all the way tugged down |
Town |
Ride around town showin' out |
Pounds |
City after city fuckin' hoes |
Yours ain’t a lot act like you know |
Capone with the city complete assassinater |
With paper, blow up a Nigga shit like sky pagers |
It’s major, save a whole out of not |
Stop, if you think your feelin' fin popped |
Rap-A-Lot can’t stop, won’t, don’t stop |
And we did already hit the top |
Rap-A-Lot can’t stop, won’t, don’t stop |
And we did already hit the top |
Mob |
I be comin' through rages |
And Niggas thinkin' I pissed off |
I’m itchin' to get my sick off |
I be trickin' them if they trick off |
All hands about to get kicked off |
Nigga I got 'em |
Fuck up your body when the slugs touch down |
Runnin' up on me you feel it |
The realest and platinum bound |
With the Nigga called Yuk |
We brakin' bed and ballin |
Feds hollin' |
Bloody bodies with no heads |
And calling your momma Nigga |
Yo, who the Mob, feel her |
Rap-A-Lot Nigga |
Kick that John quicker |
I missed the bomb disher |
Flat the palms |
Money is in my figures |
With our triggers |
Snypaz be red dot Niggas |
We the Mafia and Yuk sent your picture |
So we’re droppin' |
Maybe you speakin' |
Role one |
Kill each other, smoke some |
Po-po's pass to folks some |
Rap-A-Lot Mafia known from |
We put’s limits on Niggas |
We hold money over bitches |
Let the whole world recognize the realest |
When it’s bangin' Rap-A-Lot Mafia |
The street’s most popular |
Servin' your hood like helicopters |
Say the wrong thing and I’ll slaughter ya |
Disrespect the Mob, young catch punkin' heads |
Wishin' you was dead |
Layin in bed the next |
Nigga what did I say |
To make these Niggas act this way |
Rich thugs still got me muggs |
Just to remind a motherfucker, about where I was |
Nothin' but love from my thugs |
Get your paper cause |
We laugh and drink when we rich, black and know this spore |
Nigga this Rap-A-Lot Mafia |
You ain’t gotta come from Cranestreet |
200 or Circlepiece |
It’s all about do you believe |
Rap-A-Lot Mafia life |
Rap-A-Lot on the streets |
Recognize the Mob or get you ass mobbed on |
No love to ones who oppose |
We taggin' motherfuckers toes |
And we ain’t even got a dresscode |
Just those, 1000 Niggas infront of Expo’s |
Waitin' on the next goes |
So lets roll and lets go |
Ain’t no sissy Niggas survivin' |
If you don’t come with them you got a problem |
Solve 'em, hit 'em with the .44 revolver |
Make an amount of what believe is right before his daughter |
Exactly like the doctor ordered |
Dressin' your homies up in church clothes |
You took the shot, that brought the black hoe |
And that’s cold, but that’s the motherfuckin' thing |
Respect the Mob and Little J and the family name |