| All you sure ass niggas out here, got the game fucked up
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| All this old friendly ass shit, nigga
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| Ain’t nothing friendly about the motherfucking game
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| You understand me, if you listen I’ma tell you right
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| Open your motherfucking ears
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| Shit, it ain’t fair but somebody got to do it, knowI’msaying
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| I came from underground, where my hood resigned
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| Nothing left but the bad and ugly cause the good done died
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| We tried laying low niggas want to cross them lines
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| So when I’m saying so you getting bumped off this time
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| Fuck a throw away, I’m looking for the gun in your house
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| To kill your family for some shit they ain’t know nothing about
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| We running the south, while other niggas running they mouth
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| If you smart, you’ll take cover cause we come in your route
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| Cause when we ride you could best believe there’s guns in sight
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| How many times mama cried cause her sons done died
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| I pull my nine out, all of my barrels are fouled out
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| So the bullets that I bust the feds don’t find out
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| Which gun, which nigga, which figga points to the trigger man
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| Still well connected not worried about who’s the bigger man
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| Z-Ro, my nigga man, Pharoah, the Killa Klan
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| I’m Black Mike, Network for life, ain’t no realer jam
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| We make sure the dirty work get done
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| Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton
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| Scratch makers, nigga we killers
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| Aggravated guerillas, been pimping in this bicth for scrilla
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| We make sure the dirty work get done
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| Real gun, popping them although it weighs a ton
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| Scratch makers, nigga we killers
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| Putting heads on pillows
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| Fuck around and weep like a willow, we cap peelers
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| King shots, killer greed penn, money hard
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| Nigga to sleep, murdering a kingpin
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| My composer, a soldier, you can call me one
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| When it’s time to ride you know I’m ready to activate my gun
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| Straight head shots, toe tagged in a body bag
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| And the outcome you stuck with, if I got to blast
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| I’m coming to get you, pull your punk ass out the picture
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| And fix the braids on your head, that means I’ma get richer
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| P-H-A-R-O-A-H, now you know
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| My motherfucking name I never play fake
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| Easy does it, do it easy when I execute
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| To that nigga and the darkside when my weapon shoot
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| Shoot again and feel like I just made boy
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| With no evidence, to be found I remain calm
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| Murdering edition, I make a motherfucker disappear
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| Slip the clip in, open fire then dripping him
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| I put stitches in the general son of a bitch nigga when he bump up
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| Running to the trunk for the pump, I’m already ready to dump
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| I’ve been working dirty, knocking busters for being surety
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| So I’m at your dome cussing like James, you ain’t worthy
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| Like a little old girly perpetrating a man
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| Dude we taking over this bitch and here to demonstrate demands
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| And bitch the down south gangsta R-A-P, 1990
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| Started with Street Military and K-A-G
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| We toe tagging, body bagging, sagging and bragging
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| Weed it up inflate it down, you damn shot and flipped the meat wagon
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| So save me some son of a guns, when it’s over
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| We one of the ones on the top, haters smell it and running to come
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| Trying to drop a dime on us, or trying to take us out
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| After we deal with it we rap about it and then it make us hot
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| Fuck your crime rate and murder rate, running up on Houston Texas
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| Well it be fuck y’all for trying to funk us on a burning day |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dirty Work (feat. Black Mike & Pharoah of Street Military) , by - Z-Ro. Song from the album Z-ro, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп