Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song So Serious, artist - Brotha Lynch Hung. Album song The Appearances, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 18.01.2002
Record label: BlackMarket
Song language: English
So Serious |
| I’m mastermindin the plot, you ??? |
| the spot |
| Wicked intentions, sensin friction, when the funk gon' pop |
| I tote my heat, and hold my ground |
| They know I clown |
| Pistol whippin and strippin em |
| Down to they riches, rapin they bitches |
| Nigga it’s a, jack move, 187, count yo blessin |
| Hollow tips fire from all directions, leavin em wetted |
| Yo pieces deleted from existence, don’t make no difference |
| I’m bangin like Metallica, serve any challenger |
| With a tre 8 caliber, fuckin em up like Algebra |
| From Cali to Florida, call the coroner |
| I’m missing in action, packin a full clip, for the bullshit |
| I told my nigga Lynch I got his back face |
| What’s up now, ??? |
| Killa Tay, and I’m jackin the ditch |
| From the shit that get spit to take a lock on the dick |
| Like a red nosed pick nigga |
| I don’t really give a shit about they life man |
| Off that night train |
| Cut they fuckin throat wit a knife man |
| And that’s right man |
| Leave em layin in the cut |
| With they guts cut up what up |
| Put ya nuts up, on the shelf with no help |
| I’m so hell I’m so stealth, (I'm so, I’m so) |
| Nigga, Mr. know where to be contacted |
| Just bombsack it, tell my momma how I’m actin |
| When I’m packin I got my practice |
| In, I’m off that gin, losin wind (What you waitin for) |
| I’m waitin for the show to begin, half past ten thirty |
| Reverend like James, straight up strange |
| Shootin range, twenty four feet |
| Leave you off the earth with this heat |
| Leave you in the street, human meat |
| Believe me, I still be workin this like a thug (Like a thug) |
| Put you in the back of the Coupe DeVille |
| Take you to the alley, shoot to kill |
| Fuck that I gotta buck back (Nigga) |
| Fuck that (Nigga) |
| I ain’t goin out like no zombie |
| Nigga smokin all that bomb weed |
| You possess and yes, I’m strapped like tombstone |
| Ready to pull out the Rafe, man, clackin wit Killa Tay |
| Lunasicc, Marvaless |
| Like Jason, and CamCrystals with a pistol |
| Chainsaw and merchetti when the funk start, we ready |
| Like Jason and CamCrystals with a pistol |
| Chainsaw and merchetti, we serious about that fetti |
| Paper chase, but still credit to large accounts |
| Survive by the ounce all in the mix |
| Just as deep as it gets, ??? |
| no counterfeits |
| Strictly bout my six, but don’t ever doubt it |
| My niggas is bout it |
| For the love of the money and game |
| Shakin you niggas is funny |
| It’s just somethin about, the way the game get spit |
| Cali niggas find a ??? |
| in, for the scrilla strictly ballin |
| I figure a bitch nigga be the first to test |
| The first to get blessed |
| Not the one to stress I’m too complex |
| And my mind-state, no contest |
| Hot what I do so it takes a god to do what I must |
| Never had no trust |
| Cuz niggas will snitch |
| Go on some other shit real quick |
| Scholar, bout that dollar, make you holla, make you feel it |
| Drop wit Killa, we the realest |
| Cali niggas runnin the chain up |
| Double C, the gangsta with the Glock in the cut |
| Identify the busta, aim first, then I bust |
| Creepin with the mask, blast on any nigga that move |
| Put my bitch in the back seat, cuz my AP need room |
| I got a real crew of niggas, ain’t no punks in my squad |
| Bitch, to get away, drive, but don’t leave till the bank get robbed |
| I wear Khaki Pants, Levi Jeans, and Hilfiger’s |
| Puttin em on they back like they drunk off liquor |
| So throw them rags up |
| If niggas trippin, we catch em slippin, hold them 9's up |
| Blast on they ass, flash on they ass |
| Light my weed up, I like to get away high |
| On the cut postin like Pac |
| Niggas scream til I die, I’m no lie |