Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Paper Made , by - C-Bo. Song from the album Enemy of the State, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 14.03.2000
Record label: Warlock
Song language: English
Paper Made |
| My whole crew is platinum |
| Quick to throw it down with Magnums |
| We ain’t duckin' when the guns start blastin' |
| What’s happenin' |
| West Coast rollin', Benjamins foldin' |
| Nigga bank accounts holdin', more loot than the jews |
| And I just stepped fresh up out some county blues |
| Had me all on the news, cuz I’m gettin' my paper |
| And my goal life now is livin' it major |
| Coppin' Crystal, Champagne |
| I’m in the 'Natti with the blow brains |
| Leavin' my mansion up in Spokane |
| The dope Game, was lovely |
| Out with the flip rollos and drop Benzes when they clucked me |
| Now the haters wanna mug me, cuz I’m AMG kid candy on some dub leech |
| But fuck them tricks cuz they haters |
| They stick out like short thumbs around Playaz |
| All I wanna do is get my paper straight |
| Roll up highways sideways out the gates |
| Luxury livin' baddest women and I’m straight |
| Back up with the flames BITCH |
| I’m Paper Made |
| I still scream «Fuck the World» _Til My Casket Drop_ |
| I give a fuck about parole and these bastard cops |
| He could see me on TV coat with two Glocks and a P |
| Cuz some bitch nigga snitched on me down in Cincinnati |
| I bet the bitch thought he had me |
| Ain’t that a bitch how niggas trip |
| That nigga must have been smokin' the cavi |
| I won’t rest until my 'Natti niggas get him |
| Run up in him hit him with a blade up of in his kidney |
| And leave him face down, real niggas don’t play around |
| Paralyze that motherfucker from the waste down |
| Cuz he’s a bitch turned snitch on the next nigga |
| On sight I’m takin' his life with the Tec trigga |
| And give a fuck about his kid, cuz he didn’t give a fuck about mine |
| When I was servin' my bid |
| I knew he was a flunky, punk nigga dressed like a junkie |
| Runnin' around with a pound of bunk weed |
| See I’m all about the cash fool |
| Blast to get a mill and I keep it real fool |
| I owe court and the streets, fuck a deal |
| Wanna see me cuffed and stuck in the back seat of a cop car |
| When I got jewels and pull more strings on a good tar/guitar than a rock star |
| Cop car by the UB wanna do me down like Doobie |
| Straight haters is what you fools be |
| Hangin' on my balls like newbies |
| You do three’s dumped outta trees is how we do these |
| Enemies when we WC 'em down like my crew be |
| Pack heaters nonetheless and now better leave his |
| Bulletproof vest down in the Beemer |
| Hit 'em up we lead 'em then streetsweap 'em |
| We don’t need 'em |
| That nigga’s a bitch like Ru Paul |
| Whipped his with his ass you’ll be sold like blue balls |
| We some murderers, haven’t ya heard of the straight killa |
| All black, the realest on the map, mission to get the millas |
| Y’all best off feel me, a motherfuckin' real G |
| In this shit Paper Made til they kill me kill me |