Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Feel My Nature Rize, artist - Brotha Lynch Hung. Album song Loaded, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 04.11.2005
Record label: Black Market
Song language: English
Feel My Nature Rize |
Feel my nature rise, blood shot red eyes |
Waitin' in your back seat, catch you by surprise |
Situations and circumstances make you take them dangerous chances |
Leave you in your front seat with your neck slit, then I’m hittin' fences |
Now I’mma talk about the same dirty situation |
Shit you hatin', that’s why your casket is waitin' |
Shine your ass up like a triple gold Dayton |
When I’m in your town you better cut like Walter Payton |
Studio man keep tapin', I got that bitch, she peratratin' |
Show your whole family, leave you on your front porch hangin' |
With a note that’s saying: 'sincerely, Swartzaniggaz' |
Put your hands in your pocket, give it up |
I demand I need my tweed, potent refer, man |
Bandstandin' with the hand cannon |
Split my face, muthafucka, gimme your scrill |
And that Rolex in your hand, understand? |
Yeah, you gots to feel my nature rise |
I can feel my nature rise |
Starin' at the marks that I despise |
Through evil eyes, hostile thoughts turn homicides |
You gots to die, for tryna ride and get me |
Got some off, but none of them hit me |
Now on a payback tip, with a pitch black mask |
On the grass with a 50 caliber weapon |
Hangin' up over the door of the Chev and causin' slaughter |
Sid’s Malt Liquor be that motive when I be loaded off that water |
Saw the situation heavy rollin' |
Shotgun and a Chevy that’s stolen |
Strapped up and ready in case these niggas wanna get deadly |
We can go there, I know there’s a place for busta niggas like ya’ll |
But I heard it’s pretty deep down so you niggas better watch your fall |
Too late for that 911 call, this murder’s already in progress |
Home invasions like Asian got me obsessed like a Vietnam vet |
As I kick through the front door, blastin' |
And Lynch kicked down the back |
Operation: Peel-a-cap, you fools shoulda already had your gats loaded |
Cuz it ain’t no tellin' when we comin' |
Back streets, sacks of weed get blazed as we gunnin' with the engine still |
Runnin' |
Cuz real killers make them real quick get aways |
Spray the whole place and skirt |
As quick as we can, we does our dirt |
Whoever gets hurt, that’s business |
So please don’t take this personal |
It’s just that murder’s in my nature |
So four years now, that’s what I’ve been searchin' for |
Cuz doin' dirt grows old when it’s the same old thing |
That’s why I try to take my murders to the highest extreme |
Make everybody scream, open up some spleens |
Still hearin' the blood spillin' |
It’s just a little dream that I be havin' |
Man, I love killin' |
(Brotha Lynch): |
I got a hard dick for killin' |
Southside villain |
Protect your wife and your children |
Feel my nature rise |
(Sicx): |
Not quite knowin' about this nigga? |
Check your metro sections |
Then cross reference murders by streets and dates |
And how many times niggas' hoes' got raped |
Mr. No Prints, the reason one time runs out of yellow tape |
Fuckin' with a half deck, havin' niggas on hush |
Smokin' a bowl that I re-dust |
Open up your chest when I bust |
So suit up, cuz it’s kill a nigga night |
Ain’t no tellin' when Triple 6 gets to shootin' up |
Movin' up your death date, with a Tre-8 special |
It’s way too late to wrestle, as I nestle the sword stoppers |
Split your ass open like pinata |
Loadin' up like a Rotweiler |
Lining up like Tyson snortin' cocaine powder |
Pure dank sniffer, some like a lot of fluid, but I beg to differ |
One wiff of that shit and I’m on cloud nine |
Nigga, don’t trip if you ain’t got no nuts |
Cuz I brought mine all buffed and shined |
Untouchable when I’m fuckin' full of that nitrate wine |
That’s when I bust on nineteen times and up |
Cuz I’m nuts, goin' out my mind |
Few, there’s no luck, you fucked for life, for sho' |
Get your ass up on the floor |
Tryin' to catch me at that lateral, slippin' |
By my lonesome, but I’m on some, so who wants some? |
Fresh out the gates, ain’t no room to make mistakes |
Try to make my tapes, but I feel the ho hate |
Tuck my dick inside in the O-8 |
Must of been the way the clip mate with the .45 |
No body, no case |
Taste the meat, can’t wait to eat |
Keep the street dirty, keep sturdy in your face |
(TallCann G): |
Ya’ll niggas don’t wanna feel my nature rise |
Cuz I get dirty, shoot up shit with my Clint Eastwood |
Leave your neighborhood lookin' like a ghost town, nigga |
You standin' on dangerous grounds |
When we come to Sac, better have your automatics on loaded status |
Cuz me and my niggas be on the savage, leavin' no prints |
Not givin' ya’ll niggas a inch, cuz I’mma lynch you |
Fry your guts like Sizziline |
Have your homie reminiscing' about your gangsta lean |
Nigga, it ain’t no fuckin' with my clique |
You can dial 911, but it ain’t no rescue |
Man, I hope the dear Lord bless you |
Next to this nigga, ain’t no one’s nuts bigger |
Clutch your guts nigga, fuckin' with this Swartzanigga |
Cuz I done lost it, taggin' niggas like a pit bull with rabies |
Gone off 40 ounces of O. E |
Creepin' up on you, like doin' my Magnum P. I |
Lazy Eye with Lil' Blacc Mile |
Smokin' a hard dick for killin' |