Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Don't Test Me , by - Bloc Boyz ClickRelease date: 23.03.2015
Song language: English
Don't Test Me |
| Trying to rob me, dog, I’ma knock you off |
| Let that pistol cough, don’t test me, foe |
| I’m a real one dog, a drug dealer, uh |
| Don’t make me steal a cup, just let me peel this |
| Trying to rob me, dog, I’ma knock you off |
| Let that pistol cough, don’t test me, foe |
| I’m a real one dog, a drug dealer, uh |
| Don’t make me steal a cup, just let me deal this drug |
| I say y’all motherfuckers ain’t ready |
| I’m riding with them 25 bricks in my Chevy |
| I tell my nigga «meet me in the east by the levy» |
| It’s heavy, a duffel bag full of get ready |
| I’m deadly, bust a head, now send me to my celly |
| I’m in the belly, sometimes I feel like I’m Makaveli |
| I’m crucified, boy, bleed from my belly |
| I’m high, homie, put some fee in for that smelly |
| My only words to the sky is «Lord, let me die» |
| If I’m survive, I’m gon' ride, can’t no nigga slide |
| Can’t no nigga hide, boy I’m crazy, they gon' pay for mine |
| Waistline, tech nine, I hit waist and spine, boy |
| Money I’ma make mine, a broke nigga is a coward and I takes mine |
| They say I’m a product of my project |
| It’s, tell a nigga push my top back |
| But I don’t there, your bullets might bounce back |
| I’m bulletproof, boy, don’t die for a ounce of crack |
| But I don’t there, your bullets might bounce back |
| I’m bulletproof, boy, don’t die for a ounce of crack |
| As the Den-block hustler, knows as cocaine corner |
| Be first-round draft picks, the dope game wants us |
| There’s blood in these streets, a couple homies died on me |
| But niggas still got heat, so we still grind on 'em |
| Trying to move a couple zips, watch 'em do a couple flips |
| Blue steel, rubber grips, bread sales tips |
| If angels pull triggers, hammers hit pens |
| Kings hit the cells, then bullets start to spin |
| The gun it extends, and the barrel throw flames |
| You should never rob a black boy, we pop that thing |
| Fuck biz, fuck jackas, fuck these scandalous ass hoes |
| SK’s, AK’s, AR’s, catacombs |
| We done beating the window, flame matching the tempo |
| Flames dancing, with the front-end of my reload |
| Rigging and frustrated, blow what I come |
| I don’t want to kill you, but I ain’t the one |
| Take you tongue, catch yourself, you can speak at your own grave |
| Respect a nigga house, and don’t get caught in the wrong safe |
| More or less, nigga, watch what you say |
| You can kill your morals, like suicidal, but you speak out the day |
| And I’m stone-throwing snake, they want to break me |
| Tell 'em old plotting-ass niggas «come and face me» |
| See, or you’ll never have to chase me |
| Put that pistol to your fucking mouth, until you taste it |
| I’m waist-deep, violent waters, running in ocean wars |
| We ain’t skipping, shots tired, right outside your door |
| Knock on your window, like, «you gon' rob who?» |
| Bow-bow-bow! |
| Never land, never do |