Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pov City Anthem, artist - Caddillac Tah. Date of issue: 31.12.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pov City Anthem |
| Hello, «Tah Murdah» has a message for |
| To accept the message, press one |
| To cancel the message |
| Tah Murdah 2001 Murda I.N.C. |
| motherfucker |
| Mr. Fingaz got beats |
| Gangsta, gangsta |
| Uhh, uhh, gangsta, gangsta |
| Murda, murda, gangsta, gangsta |
| Fuck y’all niggaz talkin' about? |
| Uhh, uhh, gangsta, gangsta |
| Uhh, uhh, uhh, yeah, this is how we do |
| Yeah, 2001 |
| 2001 nigga, check this shit |
| Now everybody just bounce, bounce |
| My Pov City hustlers, bounce, bounce |
| All my hood slimies, and Prada mamis |
| See how we fall off in the club, its nuttin' but love |
| Plenty bottles of skimy twisted and stick bud |
| And it fifty-fifty love, all across the board dog |
| Gully respect Gully never floss for broads |
| Or, get out of my character when she back it up |
| And after somethin' good performs, I’ll have you get up on it |
| Ma, I’ll give it how you want it, make you a new lady |
| Coke’ll open her crazy, now all day she two way me |
| Type of shit like «Ohh baby», everything you do is gravy |
| And models I’m hittin' lately, so all you can do is hate me |
| Stare me down and screw face me, hype ya man up to lace me |
| C’mon, all y’all buttersoft, sweeter then tasties |
| My hands grip two hammers, double action |
| Prime time, nigga minus the actin' |
| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky |
| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up |
| Mamis in the club lookin' right, oh you ain’t spendin' the night? |
| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up |
| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag |
| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts |
| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this |
| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad at you player, play on |
| Now hear me holla out gangsta, gangsta |
| Paper chaser, I love the cake |
| And petit mamis with the coke bottle shape |
| So keep shakin' that money maker, ma-ma I can’t hate ya |
| Its a cold world, ol' girl, so take advice from a pimp |
| What I’m spittin' is venomus ism listen |
| When the chrome rims glistenin', on the 'llac truck |
| Traffic get backed up, we in this, cloud of smoke from spinach |
| Niggaz ain’t big enough to go some rounds or minutes |
| I’m heavyweight, and I ain’t speakin' 'bout pounds in fitness |
| Use to spit off for sport but now its business |
| When you see me holla like you know me and I ain’t scared homie |
| Picked up the mic, and put down the gats and yo |
| Now I rap and blow, with a fire acid flow |
| You know, and dog I ain’t gotta repeat it |
| Right in front of ya eyes, ya see it, the best kept secret |
| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky |
| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up |
| Mamis in the club lookin' right; |
| oh you ain’t spendin' the night? |
| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up |
| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag |
| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts |
| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this |
| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad at you player, play on |
| Now everybody just ride |
| If you sittin' on dubs, in that big body rollin' a bud |
| Then get high, uhh, get it crunk |
| Murda, gangster love |
| Now you know its only right and necessary |
| That I smash Freddy, after spittin' heavy, bars |
| Methaphors god, my shit is deadly |
| Swift and better believe, I’m focused now |
| Feed you to the vultures, murderous poster child |
| Click, clak, blaow, he pound sure to drop |
| Then catch me full of that hall or, blowin' on them poppers |
| But love, livin' and, love them, thug, women |
| Who will hustle and grind when its hard times |
| Playa, we came in this game with no gimmicks |
| You’re finished, diminished ya frame get holes in it |
| Straight business and No Limits, like Master P |
| So if you bout that, scrilla my nilla then stack them cheese |
| And twist up, burn the vanilla dutch, we live it up |
| No bread, dick and Big Red we givin' sluts |
| I’m just a villian, willin' to kill for that pot of gold |
| You gotta know, it’s all for the dough |
| Now get ya muthafuckin' hands up, high, touch the sky |
| And if you holdin' weight, nigga get it up |
| Mamis in the club lookin' right; |
| oh you ain’t spendin' the night? |
| Give her the pin number, mami hit me up |
| We can SkyTel tag until I get you in the back of the Jag |
| After we burn a bag, I’ma hit the guts |
| Oh you a baller? |
| Then ball to this |
| My pimps, gangstas, and dogs I ain’t mad |
| At you player, play on, play on |
| Yeah, its a playa event nigga |
| All my players ya heard me |
| Pov City nigga, yeah, uhh |
| Heart of the grungy, cheddar boys, mercy |
| Yeah, it’s goin' down nigga |
| 2001, murda, murda |
| Uh, uh, gangsta, gangsta |