Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Situation , by - Brotha Lynch Hung. Song from the album SiccMixx, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 28.06.2004
Record label: Orchard
Song language: English
Situation |
| The only one who ever saw my face, I must erase, had to get filthy dirty |
| Left him in his driveway soaking wet, hope nobody heard me |
| I’m out that muthafucka with about 4 pounds of that Shamrock |
| Zip lock, body bag, toe tag, wet T-shirt, black mask |
| In and out fast, murderous, vast vigorous |
| Stroke that nigga like a zig zag rolled cigarette |
| And I do it to get my dick wet |
| Brain grain rotten, I was a 12 year old gettin' raped by my momma’s partner |
| So I’ve been in pussy since I could start nuttin' |
| I’m off that Cloraseptic and that Robatussin |
| Had a appetite for the wrong nigga, said he was real meat but I knew he wasn’t |
| Had me dumpin' out the back of Cadillac’s on Walter |
| Got a stinky smell to him, can’t even hug my momma |
| I’m so sick I can’t sleep at night, might swallow my tongue |
| Get all the gas deposits out the closet, let the water run |
| Get the flame thrower, lighter fluid, paper plates, cuz we barbacuin' |
| In a funky situation that’s how we do it |
| Situation, baby it seems I’m in a situation again |
| I fuckin' realize it’s a situation of sin |
| Sometimes I just wanna stop tryin' |
| Why must this shit always involve dying? |
| Runnin' shit like Sosza, Big Bank Hank |
| Smebbin' in a high performance zooped up Nova, pushin' crank |
| Callin' shots on my gossipper, faulty chip |
| 1−800 locker number, on the left side of my hip |
| Neighborhood watch better watch that ass |
| I’m a paperboy and I collects that cash |
| One more muthafuckin' complaint and your ass ain’t gon' last |
| On a block where I clock cash so fast |
| This is a stick up, nigga, don’t even try it |
| If you go as far as to blink an eye, muthafucka you gon' die |
| Pressure I apply, no lie, I got just finished doin' 10 |
| For what? |
| For killin' my best friend |
| And I’ll murder again if I’m forced, then I must |
| After the first time the second time was a rush |
| What about the third time? |
| The third time felt like sex |
| What kind of guns did you use? |
| Choppers, Uzis, Teks |
| Whatever one works best |
| I’ll make a mess upon shooting flesh, 'bout 15 holes in his chest |
| Vandalism, taggin' all muthafuckas names on the wall |
| Scandalism, dyin' over all kinds of senseless shit that’s small |
| Auto theft, stealin' cars for fun |
| Snatchin' purses cuz I’m young and dumb |
| If you a tourist check yo' map, don’t make the wrong turn |
| Might end up in the hood where you gon' be learnin' |
| (First Degree): |
| Rock it, don’t stop it, rock it, don’t stop |
| I got this dirty yemp distributin' my womp |
| But if it was up to her, fool we’d be fuckin' like beavers |
| But I’m an over achiever around these heaters |
| I don’t need a bitch, society done fucked up and cheated that bitch |
| Now she lookin' for a nigga like me to feed her and shit |
| Dumb bitch better quit, that muthafucka First Degree keep a leash on his dick |
| Take notes, sit by the poor folks, I tell you 'bout my strokes |
| But I done been gave that up, ain’t healthy no more |
| Cuz a this yappin' and feelin', she strapped with the homies |
| And her weak mind got all of Sacramento in a bind |
| Lizzy Ann must die, the situation just ain’t right |
| Cuz she got to bumpin' her gums like her momma, so I called her |
| I said I got mines, get off your ass and raise your daughter |
| (Twamp Dog): |
| Peniles at my door, three in the front, nigga, four through the back |
| Talkin' bout takin' me down to the Sac town county jail |
| Strapped up cuz I did a jack |
| Armed and dangerous, waited 6 months to come and get me |
| Knowin' I’m into straps, cuz every time I get caught one was sittin' with me |
| 2 time before this, now add one more to the program quick |
| Shackled down, now I’m on a mission to a one man cell with the quickness |
| Think about the work that I did that night and what went wrong |
| To get a rider caught |
| 30G bail cost to get me off, fightin' on the street, fuckin' watched |
| Every 2 weeks another court date, thinkin' I can win, that’s no lie |
| Kept on goin' on for some months, lookin' the judge right in the eyes |
| Feelin' his anger |
| Watched fools before me do petty crimes and he’s givin' 'em time |
| Bein' a bitch about muggin' on me, nigga talkin' shit to me, heated like |
| Pointing guns at individuals, huh, I despise muthafuckas like you |
| So it ain’t no love for me judgin' you, watcha gon' do? |
| Take it to another court room? |
| And that’s the first step for me, my lawyer knew the D. A |
| You know, so he tried to hook a brother up, you see |
| If I did take a deal, it’s only one year guaranteed |
| But I’m bout to give work for dough in a couple more weeks |
| Tryin' to give 10 years, if I go to trial and lose the muthafucka |
| Then I messed around and had to go back to the first judge |
| Sayin' don’t work for ya |
| I wasn’t gettin' off that easy, my case had a little substance |
| And the odds are stacked against me, no frontin' |
| Choices need to be made on the 7th |
| A catch 22 in my midst, cuz either way I’m fucked |
| Go to trial where I’ll probably lose, or take my ass on the run |
| Or take a deal to a lesser charge, either one I’m gettin' struck |
| Cuz doin' time is a mando thang and that got a muthafucka stuck |