Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Come And Get It, artist - Redman. Date of issue: 31.12.1999
Song language: English
Come And Get It |
| Yo you could get rugged, rough, hard like Luck |
| Bring your best rhymes and you niggas still suck |
| I’m slumped in a truck, with the pumps up |
| Comes to crazy dough, I never get enough |
| Your money like old men, can’t get it up |
| I’m spittin up sicker stuff, middle fingers up |
| Luck, I’ll never give y’all respect |
| Like no eye contact, pounds with the left |
| If you get offended, I’m talkin to you |
| Come get it, and there’ll be a coffin for you |
| You done did it, you messin wit Luck, you pressin your luck |
| Got lots of jewels and I ain’t givin 'em up, sho nuff |
| HOOK: Redman & Lady Luck |
| Come get it, y’all niggas wanna fuck wit Jerz |
| Come get it, the Bricks don’t fuck with herbs |
| Come get it, I represent Jerz til I die |
| Smoke on the lah lah lah lah lah lah |
| Come get it, y’all niggas don’t want it with Jerz |
| Come get it, Luck don’t run with herbs |
| Come get it, I represent Jerz til I die |
| Smoke on the lah lah lah lah lah lah |
| (Redman) |
| Yo, Funk Doc smack y’all niggas, jack y’all niggas |
| Have your thuggest thug come get it back for y’all niggas |
| Laugh at y’all niggas, throw caps at y’all niggas |
| Stick NBA for the basketball figures |
| Jiggalo men wit two hoes, John Ritter |
| Arm lit up, microphone tormenter |
| I’m hungry as fuck and I came to eat |
| If you came to shoot Doc can you aim at least |
| Bricks, sucker MCs that stay hookin off |
| You boogie hoes like, this what I’m lookin for |
| Duke, your moms think I’ma helluva guy |
| Pussy, you don’t get it like American Pie |
| I scar deep wounds, bubble teaspoons |
| Powder is the rhyme, boggled is the mind |
| When I spit y’all become fiends to me |
| Crack cost money, but the D is free |
| HOOK |
| (Redman) |
| Ayo Luck, do you really know what pressure is? |
| (Lady Luck) |
| Nigga, I apply it |
| The one stealing TVs at the Rodney King riot |
| Guns on salas, whips no mileage |
| At the bar three iced teas, Long Island |
| I stay stylin, boots stay filled with weed |
| In the V, lane three, switchin up speed |
| I’ma be obnoxious until I can’t breathe |
| And until then, y’all can’t win |
| Luck’s twelve on a scale from one to ten |
| Influenced by hydro and lots of gin |
| Nigga back up, damn I need oxygen |
| Surrounded by lots of men that’ll rock your chin and pop your limbs |
| Handle like Iverson, or Marbury |
| Flows extraordinary |
| How bout the gold Chevy, holdin the four steady |
| Been runnin war, let me know when whore’s ready |
| HOOK |