Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dead The Funeral , by - Cam'Ron. Release date: 28.04.2008
Song language: English
Dead The Funeral |
| 'For leaf big blowgun, fag nigga’s bitch, doj' an' |
| Peach chrome, sick Rover, Zeek home, the bid over |
| He looked at me and said «Killa I’ll be your kitchen pitcher, the bid was rough» |
| I said nigga I did the bid wit' ya |
| Capiche, not Mona Lisa it’s the big picture |
| Six scriptures, six blickers, grip triggers, strip niggas |
| The Big Dipper, swig liquor, big liver |
| Now that you home watch the shit differ, I dig nigga |
| Soon as a nigga whisper, believe we jiggin' Jigga |
| He Elton Brand in a barber chair, he’ll get the Clippers |
| I don’t care who you are, the point, don’t be stupid pa |
| We celebrities with guns, shooting stars |
| Yeah remove ya bras, a few of ours in through-in cars |
| Spray 21, Blackjack, I knew ya cards |
| Kid roll, Peter Rowe like Kennedy |
| Friends with me at the graveyard, visits from old enemies |
| Some bitched, some snitched, some owed us dough |
| Piss on the tombstone, write on it, «Told you so» |
| Check my portfolio, I was poor then rose to dough |
| KNow what I’m about in a drought I score, overflow |
| I’m the waterboy, wet work for water call |
| The price is nice, TLC, some waterfalls |
| Fiends snort it all, this fact I report to y’all |
| Go inside, extort them all, from short to tall you oughta ball |
| And where the ballas live and all my friends all to win |
| This the second time around, that shit you call again |
| Damn yo' lady fine, you been on yo' baby grind |
| Me I’m 86, highest temp, P-89s |
| Everyday we shine, fine, don’t pay me mind |
| My watches are retarded, you can call 'em crazy times |
| Mines are more than brothers |
| We gon' rock til the Range, Benz, and Porsches clutter |
| Garage, assorted colors |
| Yeah Crayola box, for that, payola doc |
| I’ll lay you over a stroller with the strangest odor ock |
| Is it over not, huh, we immune to you |
| We shoot the wake up, straight up and dead the funeral |
| Break* |
| Ay yo hold the fuck up |
| I said we gon' shoot the wake up and dead the fu-- |
| You dead already we gon' dead the fu-- |
| Matter fact son, bring that shit back up, fuck it |
| And you heard Rell, I do worst than foul |
| They murdered Roberta, lawyer murdered murder trials |
| We deserve to style, walk on Persian tile |
| On the island with millions, Durst to Al |
| I get cake in layers, not the Daily News |
| But when I flip, I make the papers, hate the mayor |
| I’m a gangsta, I fuck ma, go date a player |
| Man these dudes are fish market, straight fillet ya |
| Went to war with Cuomo, then Pataki |
| Then Guilliani, then I went to North Cackalacky |
| What you gon' tell a mobster, cake was hella proper |
| No Petey Pablo when I saw them helicopters |
| That’s the letter niggas, trick us from the ghetto bird |
| Her word said I gave the whole ghetto birds |
| Man your case go find it, need a new assignment |
| That ain’t giving out, first of all it’s called consignment |
| Contest to play |
| You got no gunwounds, jail time, felonies, real shit on your resume |
| I get you extra yay, not tomorrow, yesterday |
| If they ask, never say, snitch and we never play, ay |