Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Betta Watch Me, artist - C-Murder. Album song The Tru Story...continued, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 16.10.2006
Record label: Koch
Song language: English
Betta Watch Me |
| Wake up-wake-up-wake up |
| Man I hit the set, and them boys be getting ghost |
| Ya know, they spooking but it’s cool |
| I’m bout to wake 'em up |
| You better watch me, cause I’m doing bad |
| Plus I’m hurting, I gotta get weed |
| Now where them goods at, playboy give me that |
| And get them goods wrapped, I’ll make you lean back |
| See my clock is on need fo', I’m 'ready tweeking |
| I can’t be sitting up here hurting, all weekend |
| I keep on falling off, at the worst times |
| And if I’m stuck it ain’t my fault, I’m gon reverse mines |
| My pain I’ma nourish mines, cause I’m sick with it |
| Now where them ballers at, I’m looking for that big ticket |
| Ten minutes from losing it, one day from locked up |
| The way I’m living, sooner or later I’m gon be boxed up |
| Nobody trusting me, they know how I’m coming |
| I hit the block, and I swear I see them cowards running |
| Putting they stash up, peeping out they windows |
| Now why they tripping, I’m the exact opposite of 5−0 |
| It’s called survival, of the fittest |
| I can’t help it cause I’m with it, and you ain’t with it |
| I come to get it, yeah I did it I did that |
| I can’t take that back, so beat your feet back |
| All y’all gon remember me, cause me ain’t no joke |
| Me do what me does, cause ain’t no being broke |
| I was raised in this, I ain’t ask for this |
| I tried changing my life, and now it’s back to this |
| Somebody pray for me, the Lord is testing me |
| But them people, they gon have problems arresting me |
| Now my lungs hurting, need that black vest |
| And I feel like, jacking one of these rappers |
| Was 14 with the felons, while y’all did the misdemeanors |
| Niggas my age, was pushing Beamers |
| Niggas that sprayed, while using Ninas |
| AK’s and SK’s, your chest cave |
| Your neck shaved, and your waves turn to still water |
| Hood on fire, racks of money steal daughters |
| Kill fathers, pop a seed in your mama |
| This routine, and you pussies thought you knew Fiend |
| I’m from a city, where ery’thing crooked |
| Where the right kind of money, meant the judge overlook it |
| And I’m screwed up, I ain’t talking Swishahouse |
| 'Fore I learned to tie my shoes up, I was burning crews up |
| My Ward verse your Ward, put them 22's up |
| These 26's, make you put them 22's up |
| This Mack-90 mean, I ain’t giving you fuck |
| But bullets, in that shiny new truck |
| What you know about, fighting for five days |
| Hanging niggas upside down, coming at you sideways |
| A crooked H, going 67−5 |
| And I add them three quarters for the ride, plus I’m high |
| I got this world in the tip of my pistol, shining like crystal on my waist |
| Shadow ducking the barell, reflecting off in his face |
| He’s below his lace, so my tape’s no longer lead |
| Stomp in the Expedition, my mission was made to speed |
| Blazing up the weed, tried my tint’s and armored lint |
| Checking up on my schedule, for all the Benz I spent |
| Get the hustling broad, put the one out of socket |
| Having enough to catch life, in all four of my pockets |
| You understand, and click your hand late |
| It’s time to cope for what you never ate, guts and nuts on the dinner plate |
| Love is hate, kissing ass by wetting vocals |
| Hustling on the streets, when it’s hotter than Akapolko |