Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Ghetto Symphony (Feat. Mia X, Fiend, C-Murder, Silkk The Shocker, Mystikal And Goldie Loc) , by - Snoop Dogg. Release date: 31.12.1998
Age restrictions: 18+
Ghetto Symphony (Feat. Mia X, Fiend, C-Murder, Silkk The Shocker, Mystikal And Goldie Loc) |
| Yo nephew, give me some of that No Limit shit |
| Yeah. |
| we got my ni*ga Fiend in the house |
| C-Murder in this motherf*cker |
| Mystikal all up in this b*tch |
| Goldie Loc, hm-hmm |
| My nephew Silkk the Shocker |
| Oh yeah, we got somethin for the ladies too |
| Mia X, run this b*tch |
| Lyrical arsonist, lady alligator |
| Down South, hustler, former weight smuggler |
| I’m Mother, of the Tank, gave birth to an army |
| Guerilla millionaires, so don’t even ask, if you wanna |
| Get to clappin, soldier action specialty of style |
| We made the whole world respect the underground while |
| some of y’all nig*az talk sh*t and get mad |
| Cause we did it with a foot up your a*s, and it’s still there |
| I cares not about your click or the block |
| I’m still that same b*tch to run up in your spot and knock you off |
| Broad, with the cause (yeah) b*tch on a mission |
| Keep them nig*az by they nuts while you hoes be d*ck kissin |
| Missin the game, damn b*tch it’s written in plain ebonics |
| So shake that come-up off you brain and do the knowledge |
| Mia X, kickin off the ghetto symphony |
| Next soldier up, tell em who the F*CK you be |
| WHUT? |
| It’s Fiend y’all |
| Put me in the ring with real MC’s, and watch em run for cover |
| And hidin in trees, to escape the mic that I breathe on |
| Bleed on, exceed on! |
| Weak rappers with titles after twelve |
| Hit a bell that’s what I’ll feed on! |
| Microphone Don, walkin flesh, talkin bomb |
| Bringin harm, to the calm, and, them be alarmed |
| It’s the African, oh, you wanna battle again? |
| I’ll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans |
| Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam |
| Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band |
| Pickups and caravans, the soldier, that could, that can |
| I would be the man, but Dogg beat me to them plans |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| C-Murder, get busy for the symphony |
| I be’s that ni*ga on the tank, always trippin never slippin |
| Have you reminiscin and missin, that fool in your picture |
| Call me Bossalinie B*TCH without the Mo’s at shows |
| And F*CK dose who oppose (why?) we runnin them hoes |
| three-hundred and sixty-five motherf*ckin days a year |
| I have your fool staggerin just like a bottle of beer |
| You ni*gaz runnin from the cops, well I ain’t runnin no mo' |
| I flip the bird when I swerve, man, F*CK them hoes |
| I’m crazy my nag*a, but uh, I thought y’all knew that, sh*t |
| Oh you ain’t see the news? |
| Sh*t I’m the nig*a with the TRU tat |
| Ask my nig*a Keno, sh*t, I just don’t give a f*ck |
| And if you run up wrong, I’ma f*ck you up, you b*tch you |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Silkk the Shocker get busy on the symphony |
| Now would I COME THIS FAR F*CKER? |
| If I didn’t sound like a hit |
| Y’all didn’t know what the f*ck y’all thinkin bout |
| You sound like a b*tch (beotch!) |
| Sh*t it sound like a wish, you know when you got a motherf*ckin hit |
| B*tch? |
| When it sound like this! |
| Or you fake niggaz get enough heart, and try to bust a |
| Rhyme at this click |
| F*ck around and miss, then f*ck around and get |
| Found in a ditch |
| Gotta labels give me dough, when they find I can, gross this much |
| Freestyle sh*t, you can tell em I ain’t, wrote this stuff |
| Silkk the Shocker, KLC perv and mash like, Snoop and Dre ni*ga |
| Y’all can relate to get a contract like, MJ ni*ga |
| Nigga where you from? |
| You sweata, F*CK YOU AT? |
| N-O-L-I-M-I-T, Top Dogg, and I’m F*CKIN with that |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Mystikal get busy on the symphony |
| WHOO SHIT MOTHERF*CKER GOD DAMN! |
| I keep it HYYYYYYPE, BITCH I’M THE MAN! |
| When the F*CK you ever heard somebody say that they don’t say my song |
| Or that I don’t roll on every f*ckin person RAPPIN ON |
| (That ni*ga Mystikal tighter than a muh’f*cker) HAHHHHH? |
| I came up off of _Peter Piper_ bells and the LL’s Bad |
| Nee ni*ga to be pissed off with me |
| cause their old lady they call me their baby |
| MC’s pilin up and crowdin up, but I’m their FAVORITE |
| The type to fly buyin a Z-28 IROC |
| And chop you in your motherf*ckin face (HIII-YAH) |
| Your album ain’t tite, WHAT IN THE F*CK IS YOU PUSHIN? |
| You played out just like old woman pu*sy |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Goldie Loc, get busy on the symphony |
| Now watch me put these haters to the test, accumulatin with my stress |
| Fold em f*ck em fifty, get the shit up off my chest |
| Releasin anger, all natural gangsta energy |
| Goldie Loc the name, Dogg House game |
| Motherf*ckers better start backin up (whattup whattup) |
| We in the Tank punk busters, motherfuckers don’t wanna see us loc’d up |
| Little Goldie Loc, Goldie Locks the same thang |
| Smashin for the hood, cause I wanted to gangbang |
| Last up, I believe that’s me |
| Snoop Dogg, light up the mic for the symphony |
| This jam is dedicated to all non-optimistics |
| That thought I wasn’t comin, out with some exquisite, rhymes |
| But that’s OK, cause now I’m back |
| To kill all the rumors, and straighten the facts |
| Like umm, doin bad, gettin ganked for my bank |
| Now you all on my d*ck when you see I’m TRU Tank Dogg |
| You say, «Mmmm mmm mmm! |
| Ain’t that somethin |
| Dogg I bought yo' album, my nig*a, that sh*t is bumpin |
| I apologize, I’m sorry for the drama |
| Can I get your autograph for my baby momma?» |
| Sh*t I’m settin it off, lettin it off, bustin |
| Hustlin, rushin, dustin motherf*ckers |
| Droppin the heat, lock up the street, we 'posed to |
| I put this pistol in your mouth, now what you gon' do? |
| Top of the line, first class |
| I pop a cap in yo' a*s, then pop some more in the glass |
| Too legit to quit, I’m spittin gangsta sh*t |
| Man f*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin |
| No Limit, yeah, that’s what’s happenin |
| F*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin yeah |
| In the real world, talk is cheap |
| Actions speak louder than words |
| No Limit Records, here to protect and serve |
| Yo nephew, give me some of that No Limit shit |
| Yeah. |
| we got my ni*ga Fiend in the house |
| C-Murder in this motherf*cker |
| Mystikal all up in this b*tch |
| Goldie Loc, hm-hmm |
| My nephew Silkk the Shocker |
| Oh yeah, we got somethin for the ladies too |
| Mia X, run this b*tch |
| Lyrical arsonist, lady alligator |
| Down South, hustler, former weight smuggler |
| I’m Mother, of the Tank, gave birth to an army |
| Guerilla millionaires, so don’t even ask, if you wanna |
| Get to clappin, soldier action specialty of style |
| We made the whole world respect the underground while |
| some of y’all nig*az talk sh*t and get mad |
| Cause we did it with a foot up your a*s, and it’s still there |
| I cares not about your click or the block |
| I’m still that same b*tch to run up in your spot and knock you off |
| Broad, with the cause (yeah) b*tch on a mission |
| Keep them nig*az by they nuts while you hoes be d*ck kissin |
| Missin the game, damn b*tch it’s written in plain ebonics |
| So shake that come-up off you brain and do the knowledge |
| Mia X, kickin off the ghetto symphony |
| Next soldier up, tell em who the F*CK you be |
| WHUT? |
| It’s Fiend y’all |
| Put me in the ring with real MC’s, and watch em run for cover |
| And hidin in trees, to escape the mic that I breathe on |
| Bleed on, exceed on! |
| Weak rappers with titles after twelve |
| Hit a bell that’s what I’ll feed on! |
| Microphone Don, walkin flesh, talkin bomb |
| Bringin harm, to the calm, and, them be alarmed |
| It’s the African, oh, you wanna battle again? |
| I’ll turn, you and your mans, to my yesterday plans |
| Oh damn, totin two pistols like Yosemite Sam |
| Old man be grand, loud as the Southern band |
| Pickups and caravans, the soldier, that could, that can |
| I would be the man, but Dogg beat me to them plans |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| C-Murder, get busy for the symphony |
| I be’s that ni*ga on the tank, always trippin never slippin |
| Have you reminiscin and missin, that fool in your picture |
| Call me Bossalinie B*TCH without the Mo’s at shows |
| And F*CK dose who oppose (why?) we runnin them hoes |
| three-hundred and sixty-five motherf*ckin days a year |
| I have your fool staggerin just like a bottle of beer |
| You ni*gaz runnin from the cops, well I ain’t runnin no mo' |
| I flip the bird when I swerve, man, F*CK them hoes |
| I’m crazy my nag*a, but uh, I thought y’all knew that, sh*t |
| Oh you ain’t see the news? |
| Sh*t I’m the nig*a with the TRU tat |
| Ask my nig*a Keno, sh*t, I just don’t give a f*ck |
| And if you run up wrong, I’ma f*ck you up, you b*tch you |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Silkk the Shocker get busy on the symphony |
| Now would I COME THIS FAR F*CKER? |
| If I didn’t sound like a hit |
| Y’all didn’t know what the f*ck y’all thinkin bout |
| You sound like a b*tch (beotch!) |
| Sh*t it sound like a wish, you know when you got a motherf*ckin hit |
| B*tch? |
| When it sound like this! |
| Or you fake niggaz get enough heart, and try to bust a |
| Rhyme at this click |
| F*ck around and miss, then f*ck around and get |
| Found in a ditch |
| Gotta labels give me dough, when they find I can, gross this much |
| Freestyle sh*t, you can tell em I ain’t, wrote this stuff |
| Silkk the Shocker, KLC perv and mash like, Snoop and Dre ni*ga |
| Y’all can relate to get a contract like, MJ ni*ga |
| Nigga where you from? |
| You sweata, F*CK YOU AT? |
| N-O-L-I-M-I-T, Top Dogg, and I’m F*CKIN with that |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Mystikal get busy on the symphony |
| WHOO SHIT MOTHERF*CKER GOD DAMN! |
| I keep it HYYYYYYPE, BITCH I’M THE MAN! |
| When the F*CK you ever heard somebody say that they don’t say my song |
| Or that I don’t roll on every f*ckin person RAPPIN ON |
| (That ni*ga Mystikal tighter than a muh’f*cker) HAHHHHH? |
| I came up off of _Peter Piper_ bells and the LL’s Bad |
| Nee ni*ga to be pissed off with me |
| cause their old lady they call me their baby |
| MC’s pilin up and crowdin up, but I’m their FAVORITE |
| The type to fly buyin a Z-28 IROC |
| And chop you in your motherf*ckin face (HIII-YAH) |
| Your album ain’t tite, WHAT IN THE F*CK IS YOU PUSHIN? |
| You played out just like old woman pu*sy |
| Next up, on the M-I-C |
| Goldie Loc, get busy on the symphony |
| Now watch me put these haters to the test, accumulatin with my stress |
| Fold em f*ck em fifty, get the shit up off my chest |
| Releasin anger, all natural gangsta energy |
| Goldie Loc the name, Dogg House game |
| Motherf*ckers better start backin up (whattup whattup) |
| We in the Tank punk busters, motherfuckers don’t wanna see us loc’d up |
| Little Goldie Loc, Goldie Locks the same thang |
| Smashin for the hood, cause I wanted to gangbang |
| Last up, I believe that’s me |
| Snoop Dogg, light up the mic for the symphony |
| This jam is dedicated to all non-optimistics |
| That thought I wasn’t comin, out with some exquisite, rhymes |
| But that’s OK, cause now I’m back |
| To kill all the rumors, and straighten the facts |
| Like umm, doin bad, gettin ganked for my bank |
| Now you all on my d*ck when you see I’m TRU Tank Dogg |
| You say, «Mmmm mmm mmm! |
| Ain’t that somethin |
| Dogg I bought yo' album, my nig*a, that sh*t is bumpin |
| I apologize, I’m sorry for the drama |
| Can I get your autograph for my baby momma?» |
| Sh*t I’m settin it off, lettin it off, bustin |
| Hustlin, rushin, dustin motherf*ckers |
| Droppin the heat, lock up the street, we 'posed to |
| I put this pistol in your mouth, now what you gon' do? |
| Top of the line, first class |
| I pop a cap in yo' a*s, then pop some more in the glass |
| Too legit to quit, I’m spittin gangsta sh*t |
| Man f*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin |
| No Limit, yeah, that’s what’s happenin |
| F*ck all that yappin, we bout that gun clappin yeah |
| In the real world, talk is cheap |
| Actions speak louder than words |
| No Limit Records, here to protect and serve |