Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Take 'Dat, artist - Canibus. Album song Hip-hop For $ale, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 21.11.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Babygrande
Song language: English
Take 'Dat |
Fake niggaz get rejected auditionin for heart |
They auditionin for the wrong part |
Nigga you ain’t from the hood you got the wrong one |
You all soft with no thought all talk |
You in the wrong sport |
In a golf cart talkin bout you hardcore |
With that bullshit 22 you bought from Wal-Mart |
My gat bark, bite you like a shark |
Right in the heart like a mosquito bite in the dark |
You got bit you massage it, I’ma lighten your pockets |
Make a withdrawal and take your deposits to split profit |
My sawed-off blow arms off |
Insurance don’t cover what a prosthetic skull cost |
It’s your loss; |
Motherfuckers keep your ears to the streets |
Cuz if you raise up get hit in the head with the heat |
If you dead you can’t eat so don’t be a fool and |
Try to protect your jewels cuz they can’t protect you |
Yea, pull out the heat them cats will get back |
Then shut your mouth niggaz’ll get clapped |
Oh, you still off runnin’your trap |
Well nigga take 'dat, nigga take 'dat |
Uh, murderous mind state is a given |
Master of self but a slave to the rhythm |
My wolves like dogs say sick 'em man get 'em |
My slugs heat seekin if I spit 'em I’ma hit 'em |
I’m a marksman spend my free time at the range |
Just incase I gotta put one up in your brain |
Sit your five dollar ass down before I lay change |
I don’t believe y’all niggaz, y’all niggaz been lames |
One spit flames call a fireman |
Sendin these weak motherfuckers to the? |
Sixteens hit like the bird flu and my word true |
I could dial seven digits and get you hurt dude |
Remember, A-1 remarkable rhymin |
Prozac washed down with Grey Goose and lime and |
Niggaz do what I say like Simon |
If I got the iron, hands in the air I ain’t lyin' |
Yea, pull out the heat them cats will get back |
Then shut your mouth niggaz’ll get clapped |
Oh, you still off runnin’your trap |
Well nigga take 'dat, nigga take 'dat |
The street lights illuminates the crooked runway |
Leadin’us from the one way |
Toward a narrow path of 40 odors and gun play |
Tryina stay away from the crosshairs when the gun spray |
The air will dry your body like salt tears in the sun’s rays |
Sorta like we raisin or paper chasin with? |
Stayin on a case do a number like 40−1k |
Thought of pushin rock like McGrady across the half court |
Dribblin the crack while on the post with the black torch |
Dumpin off jump shots stackin’up for the black Porsche |
Law enforcement officers flash badges like passports |
Actin’like we free when we actually being trapped off |
My rap keep you runnin’like athletes on a track course |
Ridin’with the mac like we saddled up on a black horse |
It’s like they tryna shackle the very root of my black thought |
Flossin on a broad day ballin out in the off ray |
Chevrolet Suburban gold? |
chuckas it’s all suede |
Yea, pull out the heat them cats will get back |
Then shut your mouth niggaz’ll get clapped |
Oh, you still off runnin’your trap |
Well nigga take 'dat, nigga take 'dat |