Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hot Boys 226, artist - B.G.. Date of issue: 10.11.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Hot Boys 226 |
| Nigga you peepin, 'cause I’m peepin for niggas creepin |
| I’m on my game ready to be releasin and rearrange |
| Ya fuckin brain |
| Carry and shoot that old 50 plus |
| Out the clip these bullets rush, leave ya fuckin head bust |
| Wuz up, I freeze beef like a deep freezer |
| Ya talk noise, where ya stand nigga is where I leave ya Believe in me and my click, hit ya block erasin |
| Leave ya thoughts wastin, I run a hundred miles paper chasin |
| I’m 'bout drama, foolishness, whatever start the trigga play |
| I had to spank a nigga believin what a bitch say |
| Like K.C., I don’t play |
| Spin a nigga bin everyday |
| A hundred round drum on the K Leave ya set a straight disaster |
| Ya got birds? |
| I smash ya Refuse, I leave that ass, know that I’m nasty |
| No clues, I can’t be caught |
| I can’t be found, it’s all on you |
| I stop ya heart from beatin, down to the dirty-do |
| I leave a nigga flesh hangin from his chest |
| 'Cause the best that he dressed |
| Couldn’t fuck with the Smith &Wess |
| B.G., Black Connection 226 start static |
| Comin out a nigga attic leavin holes in ya carriage |
| I ride all night 'til I catch a bitch |
| And when I catch, I auto matic wet ya bitch |
| It’s that nigga off the block, call me the hood mack |
| Disguised in red bandana strapped wit the chrome and black mack |
| Check, while you be the playa hater, I be the bitch fader |
| Bullets graze ya, nigga I tried to erase ya Pick the casket, dump the Glock in the basket |
| I stroll slow, a tisket, a tasket |
| I brings enough of ??? |
| heat then I bring my boys |
| To destroy, chop ya down like a clown |
| UPTOWN!!! |
| That is my destination |
| And murderin motherfuckers is my occupation |
| You’d rather face the nation than to fuck wit me I keep a chopper, I’m a fool out that wild TC |
| Good bye, better yet I’ll see ya later |
| I’m smooth with the steel and wit the hands I’m like Frazier |
| Okey doke yo bitch ass, then I take the cash and blast |
| Never get caught, my trade mark is the black mask |
| 226 tattoed on my over my heart |
| This here mark means that I was down from the start |
| Releasin them cop killers and body peelers |
| I got ya, you bitch |
| Now it’s time for me to drop ya Head shots stop, complete |
| 50 shots when our choppers scream |
| Havin trouble this evenin |
| Leavin the scene not breathin |
| Me and the Hot Boyz ride |
| Cheif and gettin high |
| Beef and niggas die when me and the Hot Boyz ride |
| Girlfriend under the seat, driver side of the Hummer |
| Here comes the chopper drummer faster than a track runner |
| Don’t play the hard road 'cause the hard road will get you left |
| On your way to the crossroads, no tomorrow for yourself |
| Wettin your whole set and where I think ya be at |
| Attackin your old hood and where ya people sleep at React, pure D-donkey, 'bout gettin funky |
| Turk throw me the junk keep more ammo than an army |
| Clips that’s all extended leave you bended, rear ended |
| SK’s be sendin, slugs can’t be defended |
| There goes the arrival, chopper spits five more |
| Screamin lets start the war 'cause we 'bout survival |
| I gets loose, chopper, blast drastically, tragically |
| Bloody, bloody bodies lie upon the ground raggedy |
| You turn around I got that red light beamin bright |
| You full of fright 'cause you know you might die tonight |
| I gets tool it’s, I’m ruthless, do more shootin this |
| 'Bout gettin foolish, lose it, chopper, ready to shoot it The head buster, Apple and Eagle, B.G., still a sinner |
| I got his body stank behind the Carrollton shoppin center |
| Baby, gimme the keys, gimme the G’s, gimme the weed, gimme the mack-10 |
| Let me see what’s happenin, to me these niggas lackin |
| Some tellin me felonies was commited, some was acquitted |
| My destiny is to live not in jeopardy, to the death of me |
| I provide knowledge that spread like a virus |
| This a street orientation, you can’t learn this in college |
| You be fuckin around wit the keys if you aint rollin shit up I wish you niggas wit me, I would be sewin shit up Look, hide out in the cut |
| Peep out Shot, Corey and Buck |
| In an Expedition truck |
| And brain fucked up from that dust |
| Nigga, who trippin? |
| I aint trippin, you trippin |
| When I slap that clip in You shittin like stool pigeons |
| That’s my bitches, that’s my riches, that’s my niggas |
| That’s my yayyo, that’s my scale |
| That’s my sale, that’s my clientele |
| This my block, this my rocks |
| This my shop, this my Glock |
| This my connection with the mob |
| That’s my partna black Saab |
| This my people, that’s my people |
| That’s hot rimmed Regal |
| Ask my lawyer, I do it legal |
| That’s my credit card from Segal’s |
| This my cigar, this my weed |
| This my Newport, this my reefer |
| That’s my old Alma Mater |
| That’s my uncle drinkin that bottle |
| Okay, I’m from that 3 and I don’t give a fuck |
| Nigga, I say murda, murda, what the fuck is up? |
| Nigga better duck when I come around that bend, I’m 'bout that drama |
| With the dirty 30, nose dirty |
| And I’m from that 3 and I be gat totin |
| I feel ya body full of lead |
| Put you to bed |
| And now another that done came up, fuck |
| I plot and make sure that I don’t miss the hit |
| You up in ???, I got ya, I hurt ya Now I’m up in ya rest area, finish ya I come with a bouquet of flowers |
| Within the bouquet of flowers is a 9 nickel plated to devour |
| And motherfuck anybody tryin to get yo back |
| They better be 'bout some comin around the men in black |