Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Nothin', artist - Tech N9ne. Date of issue: 27.04.2009
Song language: English
Nothin' |
| I used to press my Dickies with Sta-Flo |
| Sold pieces for my reli chasin' peso |
| Now they want me with nothin' cause I let my pay show |
| So I hop inside of my Mercedes and let the bass go |
| On you hatin' ass niggas, I deserve everything I get, a creatin' cash getter |
| I ain’t puttin the 2 on the 10 I’m makin' vast figures |
| You fags bitter mad wanna be fakin' class with us |
| How they thinkin' they gonna come and conquer us? |
| Little Mini Cooper hatin' on a monster truck |
| Ponder such, I’ll have you up in yonder stuck |
| Not a nare not a breath a stutter that conjure a |
| Nothin', nathin', the ruger’s penetration |
| Inside of ya head it was soundin' like it’s bassin' |
| Boom bing bang on you haters in the game |
| Strange lane takin' aim ain’t a damn thang sane |
| I get it in, want some drama? |
| Well I can fit it in |
| We can make it so you’re no longer a citizen |
| Suction, from beneath you we just a little dust’n |
| All because I’m bringin' the bucks in |
| They wanna leave me with nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| But they ain’t talkin 'bout nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| So I ain’t trippin' on nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| They come to get me I’m bustin' (Uh-huh) |
| They wanna leave me with nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| But they ain’t talkin 'bout nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| So I ain’t trippin' on nothin' (Uh-uh) |
| They come to get me I’m bustin', bustin' (Uh-huh) |
| On the block it was hot to not to run from the cops |
| I used to cop and used to chop and dump my rocks at Ms. Scott’s |
| And on the late night at Ms. White’s I’m fuckin with Will |
| We used to play fight then one night we came up with Vill |
| Young thugs dump drugs nigga hungry for meals |
| Young thugs jumped blood nigga itchin' for kills |
| Shit was real in the field man this shit was too real |
| Lost my homies to this shit man this shit is for real |
| But nigga nowdays the streets they go hard on the hustla |
| All these pussy niggas rattin' so us real niggas suffer |
| Not plentiful for me no more it’s hoes in the game |
| Since I smell when paper foldin' man I’m rollin' with Strange |
| Pour some whiskey party with me tell the Feds if they miss me |
| They ain’t comin' for me now then nigga bet they don’t get me |
| So all you muthafuckin sucka niggas wishin' me gone |
| Big homie Strange Music Resurrection I’m home |
| All I do is sell dope and nigga talk bricks |
| Talk with bananas and tote clips |
| Ride around and smoke kush with the yurner on me |
| Drink them champagne bottles with the flower on 'em |
| All that talkin' loud, will get a nigga a hit |
| You see them cherry red chucks? |
| Yeah I’m with the shit |
| Anyway I bounce out man I hit 'em up |
| And I’ll lock up with you we could get 'em up |
| I still wear a gold grill 10 across the bottom |
| They call me 19−5 cause a nigga got 'em |
| Click-Clack nigga yanka get yanked on |
| There’s been alotta hatin' nigga since I came home |
| Anything a nigga do homie it’s federal |
| And come with football numbers in the level 4 |
| They wanna bee a nigga dead man but nathin' |
| Tech fuck them muthafuckaz they could keep hatin' |