| Yo, Big T, Bizarre
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| Midwest niggas, I don’t give a fuck
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| George «The Animal» Steele mixed with Buffalo Bill
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| Nine concealed, I’m ready to die for real
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| Everybody, on Earth can get wet
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| Sixteen Vicodin, fourteen Percocet
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| Bad, yeah, spot it I get him
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| Doctors, nurses, hospitals gotta admit it
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| I beat a bitch down worser than Chris Brown
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| Move the car into Illinois, how y’all with trey pounds?
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| Loud sounds, AKs start to click
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| (Pow, pow) Somebody got they ass hit
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| Roll kush blunts, got me elevated
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| January 15th, we still celebratin'
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| Guns and ammo, I got a lot of toys
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| A fuckin' lunatic, I shoot my own boy
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| I pull that thang, put two in your brain
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| Yo Big T (Yo), my boy James remains (Biz), fuck it
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| I lost my mind long time ago
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| Not when I got shot, long time befo'
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| So I sleep alongside a fo'
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| With potato on the belt when they think Idaho
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| They pull my card, I’d have known
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| Shuffle niggas' decks, which way I’d a roll
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| Masked up, make a lot of soul,, so I ain’t liable
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| made a giant, fire hit him anyway he try to go
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| Beatin' me is like Big Baby gone rogue
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| lane try to sco'
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| Fuckin' slow, what else do you wanna know?
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| I got no love for a fuckin' hoe
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| Kick rocks bitch, with your new boy drop kick, baby thrown in a mosh pit
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| Constantly shittin' on niggas, and I’ma pee on hoes
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| They know lyrically, I keep a diary of flow
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| And I’m exposin' you hoes like a picture
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| You bitch niggas be usin' brass knuckles for dentures
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| I don’t call her, aim at their brains like a zombie
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| With a stainless steel and deranged army
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| I don’t accept sorry, your bitch be grabbin' on this dick like an Atari joystick
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| A pussy as wide as a garage with five SUVs in it
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| Niggas mistake me like mirages till the beef’s ended
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| They love smilin' in your face on some fake shit
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| All in their necks niggas dick, and they love tastin' it
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| I just wanna, the on my outro
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| My vehicle is laced with duct tape and a
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| I drive around the city as crooked as
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| Bust in yo' crib and blow your chest through the backdoor
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| This ain’t checkers bitch, this chess, you did not know?
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| I check yo' mate and slap the snot outta nostril
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| I’m pullin' your card hoes, motherfuck that Benedict Arnold
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| Niggas scared to come around and get bombed on
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| Remain frightened, like a popped condom inside of the vagina of a prostitute,
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| dyin' from the common cold
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| Quick to unload on niggas in an instant
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| That goes for anybody that’s ridin' on that bitch shit, fuck you
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| Much love, I give ‘em pounds and hugs
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| When you walk away I hit you in the back with a slug
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| Your main bitch is on my nuts, lookin' horny as fuck
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| Without wrestlin', she said she need my cobra to clutch
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| On the roll with the .44 I’m packin' on the bus
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| Baggin' up a bunch of bullets like I’m packin' for a lunch
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| Packin' a punch, I’m Runyon Ave bred, get your mind right
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| Or get it blown to the back of your head, now in hindsight
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| Shouldn’t have never tested him, blessed with a curse
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| Dressed in all black like I’m grippin' a hearse, a clever specimen
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| Captain of my regimen, take me to court
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| And we can settle out of court for nine mill is what settlement
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| Fuck you, the system, and anyone who be lyin' up
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| Push your moms off the ladder of a movin' firetruck
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| We the rawest, sniffin' ‘caine, puffin' trees
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| And some and the fedora, I’m grippin' the stolen
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| Blaze somethin' up, pass the Hennesey or get your mouth split
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| And your pops beat up out his button up
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| We be clubbin' like Ice Cube, and get you jumped by a bunch of white dudes,
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| stomped out with some spiked boots (Fuck you dude) |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Midwest Nigga, artist - Bizarre. Album song DJ Smokey Gray Presents Compilation Album Volume 10, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп