| Them niggas actors
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| They deserve Oscars
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| We pull choppers
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| To war with the coppers
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| Dogg: Them niggas livin' a lie!
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| Dipset stay fly!
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| Killa!
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| Let’s get the riot on, acting like I’m lying, huh?
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| 5 years probation, possession of a firearm (that's New York)
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| Did the county, bologna like it was «Ground Round» (that's Texas)
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| Zeek ran an ecstasy ring, he on the countdown (North Carolina)
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| Seran down the V, coke in the whip… he bought the Chaper (Chicago)
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| Victoria secrets? |
| Nah it was secret indictments
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| Jim indicted but Kelina from P. C could fight it (uptown Rucker)
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| Up in the peach, yeah the weed at least he could light it (then what?)
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| Then Zeek shot, then E killed, then B popped, then me rocked
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| Yeah, but we shooting back, I’m pulling out the four fifth
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| If I ain’t get 'em yet, believe their name is on the short list
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| Yeah, niggas nauseous, I’ll show you just what nauseous is
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| We surround fortresses, studios and offices
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| You should be cautious, kid, 'fore the boss of this off ya lid
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| R.I.P. |
| right where the portrait is
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| (Da da do) that means drop it and run it
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| No fronting 'cause the coppers is coming, like
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| (Da da do) that’s when we popping them bottles
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| With some models on our hip is some hollows (Dipset!)
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| Before they shot they had to valet me
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| Back in New York, my P. O gonna violate me
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| Said «why you acting pure as Nixon?», she said «you had no permission
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| To go to D. C…you know that’s out the jurisdiction» (I'm on business!)
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| «Ma, I gotta eat… I don’t know your religion
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| I got child support, I can’t endure the bitching (I can’t take it)
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| Plus some cousins in college, add on more tuition (education)
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| Said she got me on tape, flipping a quarter chicken (not me!)
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| Nah… that Persian-white, murder-type, fur was right (about $ 20,000)
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| You heard the price, on my neck herds of ice
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| Vertebrae snapped, gats… huh, I swerve 'em right
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| Dipset, bitch, yes, peep our urban life
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| Like lighting herb tonight, cops come, adjourn the site
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| They leave… U-turn…customers, we serve 'em right
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| So what your life like?
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| Mine? |
| Type: nice, light come off the white ice
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| You: bum-ass knife fights, Killa!
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| I’m proving this, you losing this, there’s nothing you could do with this
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| I’m disturbing the peace, right? |
| Just call me Ludacris (Luda!)
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| I don’t care who exist, the Exorcist moving bricks
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| Screw a chick, go outside and give the coupe a kiss
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| Can’t pop fly, I get my socks tied
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| I’m being watched by News 1, Fox 5
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| CNN, NBC, CBS, creep in my home
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| Paparazzi, magazines: please leave me alone
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| Yeah I VV’d the stones, dogg, I’m into cake
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| I sell records but my real job: interstates («I» Whatever!)
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| I been an ape, diamonds in the dinner plate
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| I’m a winner, fish in my crib, I got a winter lake
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| And the fountain right, nope, I won’t pronounce the price (nope!)
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| But I’ll be bouncing right near you on a mountain bike (a hood near you)
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| That’s where I hound your wife, she see the 4 pounds of ice
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| Put the 4 pounder right: yeah, bang! |
| That’s the sound of life
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| Killa! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Living a Lie , by - Cam'Ron. Song from the album Killa Season, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп