| We made it out the bottom, we reaching for the top
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| We rise and fall, but the game don’t stop
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| We made it out the bottom, we reaching for the top
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| Real estate cars, and them big shiny rocks
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| We made it out the bottom, we reaching for the top
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| Family first, fuck with that and get popped
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| We made it out the bottom, we reaching for the top
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| We live and die, but the game don’t stop
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| Fat boy killer man, cut like a guillotine
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| Off with a nigga head, my style ain’t free
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| Bloody body parts, pop hearts and stop breathing
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| Nutty niggas only need a reason, reach under the seat and
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| Grab the heat, and make that fire jump up out my window
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| I bet them bitches, won’t be coming round here talking no mo'
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| Ay yo, dirty lyrics bring out evil spirits
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| I must be evil, wouldn’t talk it if I didn’t live it
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| Wouldn’t live it if I couldn’t take it, please believe it
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| Please believe, that if a nigga disrespect he bleeding
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| I put that on them little niggas, at the crib I’m feeding
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| Do whatever, trying to get the shit that they be needing
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| Touch the streets, and get my feet muddy
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| For them dead presidents, pimp a hoe like Cuddy
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| Like Bubba Sparxxx we get ugly, remember that
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| For that bread niggas willing to go, to hell and back
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| If your cash is mean, let me hear you scream and rush it
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| Hood rich fake ass niggas, y’all gotta love it
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| Get mine, battle the streets and keep it locked
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| Loading and cocking Glocks, jamming slowed down Pac
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| Twist it and make it pop, close it and open shop
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| Bottom straight to the top, smoking on that Cali crop
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| City that’s do or die, kill you behind a lie
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| Open the pigeon coop, and let the street birds fly
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| Murder and racketeer, FED’s won’t disappear
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| Push it and hit the gear, pray for another year
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| Lifetime, and the click be rumbling
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| Raised in the hood mayn, where the heads be tumbling
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| Boys be stumbling, living in sadness
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| Broke as fuck, they can’t shake the madness
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| A savage, plus I don’t give a damn
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| Get rich and live it up, with the rest of the fam
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| Gotta rise to the top, cause the bottom too crowded
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| It’s like crabs in a bucket, and they holding me down
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| That’s why I’m on the block with the rocket, I’m holding a pound
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| Inside the booth spitting, he’s controlling the sound
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| And we controlling the town, got the keys to the city
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| Rains trains or airplanes, I got the keys to the city
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| It’s Killa, Ball and Ke we CMG
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| Custom Made Gangstaz, we CMG’s
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| It don’t take a set of binoculars, to see we G’s
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| Got a eye for this do' nigga, so we see them G’s
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| And I done finally made it, cause I’m sick with the rap
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| Spit lyrics like cold bro, I’m sick with the rap
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| When the Glock start coughing, I’m sick with the strap
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| Behind money, I’d make your face stick to your lap
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| Gotta make it to the top bro, you can’t deny my mail
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| Cause I rap so well, they had to put my teeth in jail it’s Killa |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song We Made It Out The Bottom (feat. Eightball & Killa Kyleon), artist - Lil Keke. Album song Currency, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп