| From Flatbush to Broadway
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| Niggas shootin' up the ave in broad day
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| Tanboys got that tan shit
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| We got more quarters than the arcade
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| Butterfly blade, face sauteed
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| I laugh and then, rip off face
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| And sew it on my letterman
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| And slowdance on your carcass
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| I’m rollin, I mean Ronin
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| Life is just a car chase
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| Bullseye on your third eye
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| Red dot on your target
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| Blood smear on your friends near
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| Now your homies is shark baits
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| Bullets in the diem, no carpe
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| You copy? |
| Like dub tapes
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| I’m really bout that fetti, Pa
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| Shoot a bitch over my bread like Remy Ma
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| Peel off (vroom vroom)
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| Now your city block
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| Renegade living like a never seen the cops
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| Everything stay schemin' and I’ve seen the plot
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| When your words are your weapon you don’t need no Glock
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| When your words are your weapon you don’t need no Glock
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| Tanboys, Zombie bonded in blood metal slugs
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| Blood runneth over
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| Could you sip it any slower? |
| Hold up hold up
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| Row up, get your hoes up, we gettin' trippy
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| Got four hoes with me, they down to swallow
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| Down a bottle of that tan juice, drop a bottle
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| Get your head loose, Brooklyn
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| Them shots rang uptown, that block game
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| Make more money than cops do ‘cause the block fool
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| Niggas ain’t on my shuttle
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| Niggas don’t know that I come through with the snorkel
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| Got the gun too and it rip through
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| One one two, fuck fuck you
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| Shootin' niggas in threes, like Reggie Miller
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| Zombie game, man, fuck y’all niggas
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| Juice be the name, got love for the green
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| Came from the bottom, ain’t never gone aim
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| Bomb on you niggas like Hiroshim
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| I’m Mean Gene, blowin' hella green
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| Got my seat back and my heat strapped
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| And you layin' dead on the street smacked
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| Peep that, smoke a blunt then relax (relax)
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| Brown water, my tan juice
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| 100 keep that loose on deck
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| Chain so heavy might lose my neck
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| Lose my life never lose respect
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| I stamp down this papi talk
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| I run the town your papis walk
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| No cosign (nigga fuck that shit)
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| She tryna chill? |
| Nigga fuck that bitch
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| (Spanish) Maricon gran puta Like a barracuda
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| Eat the pussy up, heart jumpin' out her hooters
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| SSI so to find my nigga Luca
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| Loco 730 fuckboy
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| I make a nigga look up like a pump fake
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| You won’t electrocute of that duct tape
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| Go roll, see, smell; |
| Serve Colgate
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| That’s blanco, color coordinate
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| A dead witness is a cold case, put new dope in that old vein)
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| Ignore the pain, we the New, New York
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| In this old game, yall rappers look pale
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| Learn to survive since Oregon Trail
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| I’mma just win never tie or trail
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| This nigga pussy leave him holy like the grail
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| Picture me scared, frame hangin' off a nail
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| Nah not me
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| I’m the one, not two, so high I see three
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| Like Paul |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Thrilla , by - Bodega Bamz. Song from the album Strictly 4 My P.A.P.I.Z, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп