Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Trouble, artist - Brotha Lynch Hung. Album song The Plague, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 18.04.2005
Record label: Orchard
Song language: English
Trouble |
| I’m hot enough to make your skin bubble |
| Packin a Smith & Wesson |
| Uh oh, trouble, don’t say nothin |
| You can tell that I’m evil |
| By the arch in my eye bra |
| But I ain’t got no pitchfork |
| I stick niggas with this sawed-off |
| Clear your porch |
| Hit the floor, duck behind your couch |
| If I don’t hear enough screamin |
| I’m burning down your house |
| Apocolypse the barbarian |
| I kill humanitarians |
| Pillage your village |
| Slaughter your children |
| And rape your women |
| Bustin through that door like dun da dun da |
| Bitches hit the floor on the double |
| Bust off a couple |
| Rounds and let it bubble |
| In your belly |
| Bullets dipped in formaldehyde |
| So when they hit you |
| You embalmed and ready |
| To get carried |
| Buried up in your grave |
| Trust me, I’m that deadly |
| Just test me if you brave |
| Eklypse I stay sick |
| Eith Pit, Playboy, and Lynch |
| Kill a bitch nigga quick |
| And run a train on his bitch nigga |
| I wish these niggas would try to rough me for the chips |
| I got metal muscle with silent tips |
| And pistol grips give violent trips |
| First I’m cool with you |
| Then I’m not |
| When you run up on me I pop pistols |
| Gun up on me it’s all official |
| I’m chewin bone grissels |
| Your family gonna miss you |
| Do away done with you |
| You should of had a gun with you |
| I got pistols |
| You know cookin utensils |
| That shit that’ll make your skin bubble |
| Fuckin with these plague niggas |
| You gotsta know you in trouble |
| Trouble (repeat 8 times) |
| I keeps it real thats the deal |
| Headbuttin motherfuckers like Evander Holyfield |
| I makes a full course dinner |
| Out of roadkill |
| Pops some pills |
| Smoke some sherms |
| Drunk as fuck |
| Rollin up a blunt |
| When I get through smokin it |
| I’m comin to your house nigga |
| What’s for breakfast |
| Kickin in your door |
| At 3:47 in the morning |
| I got my ?? |
| yawnin |
| Time to wake up, so I can do your bitch ass wrong |
| Hear comes trouble |
| Hell’s angel, some niggas call me spawn |
| Shit I’m off that ??? |
| again |
| Ready to load the pump again |
| Soon as I put somethin in |
| See I’mma aim it at your chin |
| Blame it on your friend |
| Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man |
| I can make niggas follow me like the pod piper can |
| Arachnaphobia, I’m the sniper man |
| Doom to put 'em in the pan |
| Heat 'em and eat 'em as fast as I can |
| Stretch your neck like elastic like plastic |
| Man I’m first, you last to land |
| Tephlon bullets they crash and land |
| Nigga I’m double time |
| You in trouble time |
| I’m a bubble mine |
| I’m titani and scandalous |
| I do random hits |
| Load up all my extra clips |
| And lets go handle this shit |
| Trouble is what we lookin fo |
| Kick in that fuckin door |
| Put a gag up on that ho |
| Slit that niggas throat |
| Light up the door |
| Smoke until we choke |
| I wish you motherfuckers would try to locc |
| And get his neck broke |
| Kick in the door |
| Shotgun up the asshole |
| Brains blown |
| Eyes closed |
| Nothin but trouble |
| — repeat to end |