Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Over Here, artist - Tha Alkaholiks. Album song Firewater, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 23.01.2006
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: KOCH Entertainment
Song language: English
Over Here |
I make this shit look easy nigga |
Y’know? |
Yeah, uhh, look |
I make this rap shit look easy so fuck a rocket scientist |
Just tables and a mic and Tash’ll rock them old appliances |
Alliances was formed in California, swarmin |
The West coast is back so it’s finally dawnin on 'em |
The West coast ain’t went nowhere but up the street |
To get a half ounce of kush, a couple bitches and the heat |
Freaky-Ric (k)y be the system, cause my style is extra popular |
Your girl think it’s sexy when I’m drinkin beer on top of her |
Crazy as a baby but the grown CaTash get it |
J-Ro and King Tee we represent the click Likwit |
I would fix it if it’s broke but we far from broke homey |
Above the law so the cops can’t plant no coke on me |
Only way to stop CaTash is, jump out the bushes |
Or snipe me through a window while I put away the dishes |
But that’ll never happen, I’mma dyin at this rappin |
You won’t make it to your car before the straps start to clappin |
You know how we get down («Kick it over here») |
We show no fear, that’s how we («Kick it over here») |
You might wanna visit and («Kick it over here») |
But then you disappear, cause it’s amped over here |
Yeah, that’s just how we do it round here |
You might wanna show up and («Kick it over here») |
West coast 'bout to blow up, you scared call the cops |
All hell breaks loose when we («Mmmm, DROP!») |
I drove in with a few rowdy friends, new body Benz |
King Jaffe ends, my rims don’t spin |
I’m the type of nigga had it poppin in the pen |
You the type of nigga I was sockin in the chin |
But look I bought the bar then, 'gnac and gin |
Gran Marnier, nigga mixed with Henn |
The King ain’t trippin cause I just don’t grin |
My crew ain’t snitchin dog, they just don’t bend |
So, don’t stress, doja, straight to the chest |
Now hold it, get loaded |
I’m the bomb young stunna, that old new old school dude |
88, fin' to «Act a Fool» |
And your boy been ballin, nigga been brawlin |
Nigga been haulin, nigga been lordin |
Terrorize set by section, Tha Liks’ll make a killin |
They mention King Tee’s in the building? |
Alkaholiks hold the title, real American Idols |
No chance for survival for the Likwit rivals |
Lookin at my timepiece, it’s about to hit noon |
And I just kicked a dimepiece up outta my room |
And it’s been a couple minutes and I’m gettin lonely |
I need another Cali-rony who only smokes the stony |
Green like green tea, I sip the Likwit |
Alkaholiks in the house, y’all punks evicted |
Go get folded up like the cuff in my jeans |
Ever since I was a teen, I made music for the fiends |
Y’all make music for the mentally lean |
In the land of the blind, the one-eyes man is king |
J-Ro flow is tropical, scientifical, topical |
I read a whole novel while I’m puffin an optimo |
California carnivore, wild as a wild boar |
We’ll do an album, pick a tour, while you hangin at the liquor store |