Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Juggalo Anthem, artist - Blaze Ya Dead Homie. Date of issue: 07.02.2018
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Juggalo Anthem |
| Killas kick the anthem like this |
| Juggalos up in this bitch, up in this bitch |
| Killas kick the anthem like this |
| Juggalos up in this biiiitch, blaze |
| (Blaze Ya Dead Homie) |
| G’s up, ridin’from the cradle to the casket |
| And beyond, recognize thug shit |
| Poundin’out the trunk bitch |
| Runnin’wit’a mother fuckin’hatchet |
| you haters, you suck dick was a thug, became a G B to the L to the A, Z, E, still dead |
| Still don’t give a fuck (give a fuck) |
| Sportin’all black kahkis with the mother fuckin’cuffs up Smokin’Hella trees, tryin’to make a couple G’s |
| So a thug can get back on his feet |
| Mean muggin', steady thuggin' |
| And I’m tryin’to find the hoodrat’s all about fuckin' |
| Still loked out |
| All my dawgs from the past, dead or smoked out |
| Still tryin’to come up on a lick for a phat ass ride |
| So I can drop the top, and parlay through the east side |
| Chorus (Monoxide Child) |
| Niggas kick the anthem like this |
| Juggalos up in this bitch, up in this bitch! |
| x 4 |
| (Blaze) |
| Bitches freeze, you aint a thug or a G or a banga' |
| You’s a studio gangsta |
| You aint about shit, scared to pull the trigga' |
| That’s what we call, a real bitch nigga'(bitch nigga') |
| Sneekin’through the hood, throwin’up a set |
| Hangin’out the window, yellin’idol threats |
| Check this out, I’m a check your chin |
| Close your mouth, 'fore I put the barrel in Dumpin’clips in yo ass is what I’m all about |
| Straight G from the clique on a paper route |
| Still slappin’off fake bitches with the Louiville |
| Beat a nigga’to the pavement, another bitch killed |
| Chorus (Monoxide Child) |
| (Jaime Madrox) |
| This is the battle for the planets |
| We bring the thunder, givin’half the advantage |
| Fuck a style and a status |
| Half of y’all hummin’off a half ass deal |
| And got the nerve to tell a mother fucker keep it real |
| We see through y’all fools, like cellophane on the square pack |
| You bite our shit, you can keep it, we don’t want it back |
| We don’t give a fuck, east side for life |
| And if you aint got heart, don’t expect to have your shit tight |
| There aint no room for the hoe-hearted |
| We give a fuck where you at, or who you wit', or how you got started |
| Fuck you and everybody in yo clique |
| If you don’t run wit’a hatchet, or claim the Psychopathic |
| I aint got time, to say no names |
| It’s only 8 rhymes, no holla', we been in the game |
| Besides fuck it, no speakin your name |
| You’re just a bitch in the game |
| And y’all niggas gone’always be the same |