Lyrics Might Be The Police - Brisco, Pitbull

Might Be The Police

My dogg Demi, keep ya head up, I got you, I promise!
All my chicos, I got you, I promise!
Miami, I got you, I promise!
I’mma take over this bitch, I promise!
So get ready mothafuckaz this is not a game!
I’m from the dirty dirty
Where a lot of these cats mix the weed with the coke and blow dirty
We’re off the chain meng
Rap game, crack game
Cut it, cook it, chop it, record it, Album shop it, its all the same thang
Y’all look at these blue skies and think paradise
I look at these blue skies and think what a disguise
That’s why its called the «Magic City», it’s a treat to your eyes
Cross the bridge and it’ll fuck with ya mind
Word of advice don’t follow the streets, follow the signs
Cuz the last thing you wanna do is get lost
Cause it might just cost ya life
Y’all heard about the smash-&-grabs
So watch where you put the map on the dash
Cause they might end up clapping ya ass
Why you think the traffic lights, they blink at late night
They don’t want you to stop cause the streets’ll be filled wit red stripes
Like Jamaican beer, we fry 'em like bacon here
Yo life’ll get taken here, I just thought I should make it clear, Yeah!
Everything we do is dirty
We pull up in the drop, it’s dirty
We pound that twat, dirty
Miami, we’re dirty
Where they lace 'em, roll 'em, smoke 'em and blow 'em dirty
Guns they hold 'em, if they clean dogg, we make 'em dirty
Straight up outta Texas, the reckless, PA to be exact
Where the streets is cutthroat and fiends kill you for a G of crack
8 g’s and cadillacs, chevys cut on the deltas
Might swang up on ya then hurt ya, nobody here gon help ya
2000 heltah skelta, talking bout families and killers
Vicious like silver-back guerillas see then peel ya
Niggas down here ain’t tryna feel ya, see ya, hear ya, know ya
Serve ya, for ya or for ya (Feel it)
You pussy niggas been hatin on us for too long
So we finna prove you wrong, teach you hoes a new song (thats whats up)
Cuz the time is now (now), the place is here (here)
I could smell you scared nigga, I could taste your fear
Go make it clear and move the smoke outta yo eyes
So that when everything go down, it won’t be no kind of surprise
And I got no time for yo lies (No time for lies!!), save 'em for peter
Just remember my name, I’m facing my heater (BITCH!), let’s get it dirty!
Everything we do is dirty
We pull up in the drop, it’s dirty
We pound that twat, dirty
Miami, we’re dirty
Where they lace 'em, roll 'em, smoke 'em and blow 'em dirty
Guns they hold 'em, if they clean dogg, we make 'em dirty
These boys from the bottom are obsessed with old school chevys
We call 'em verts and donks, some we call box chevys
Seven-duece, seven-trey, seven-four, seven-five
M-I-A-M-I till I die, 3−0-5
Candy paint and leather
They don’t fuck wit nothing but dubs or better
Y’all call 'em street sweepers, we call 'em choppers
Cuz when the bullets spit they spin like helicopters
This city’s filled with crooked coppers and crooked doctors
So how could these streets not be filled with crooked bitches
And niggas cocaine cooking brick flipping bitches trippin for figures
This Cuban has seen it, heard about it and lived it
That’s why I spit it so vivid, you got it, I want it, you give it
This is for everybody in county, TGK, Metro West and Stockade
Doing time and if you got more than 365
And you’re up the road rep MIA with pride, That’s right!
Everything we do is dirty
We pull up in the drop, it’s dirty
We pound that twat, dirty
Miami, we’re dirty
Where they lace 'em, roll 'em, smoke 'em and blow 'em dirty
Guns they hold 'em, if they clean dogg, we make 'em dirty