Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Bloody Money, artist - Capone-N-Noreaga. Date of issue: 16.06.1997
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Bloody Money |
| New York get the Bloody Money, dirty cash |
| Live niggas who smoke weed, car seat stash |
| You monkey walk, I’m hunchback, sneak quiet |
| Talk about me gossip, scared to death when I pop up |
| I’m fouler than gats that don’t bust when they supposed to Been around you, play close, but wasn’t close to you |
| The setup was weak, you coming |
| I saw you cuttin’corners, snake-type shit |
| Tie you up, seal your lip, wrist bleeding |
| Cowboy rope, choke your throat |
| Put the bogey out in your face |
| Now your face laced like ash tray face |
| Stay with gat on my waist |
| Give the god some space, shoot you up above waist |
| If I ain’t got beef right here or right there |
| Ice-grill stare, shoulda set it off right it off right there |
| CNN war report, spread across New York |
| Guard him Indian style — knees bent, militant |
| Yo the world know Noreaga from Iraq |
| Beef with me serious, keep it real, that’s that |
| Get stabbed in your back, my man Alley Cat |
| Little cousin from Jamaica, brown-skin thug |
| Thug blood, yo we stuck in the game like it’s a drug |
| My pops was a thug nigga, was on the streets too |
| Uncle Wise been banned since '82 |
| Back on the streets, A hundred seven got brew |
| I see you, come see you, writing scrolls (writing scrolls) |
| To the rest of the fam, locked in holes |
| At age eight, money come first, snatch purse |
| Go to church, yo that’s not me, mami I’m cursed |
| Iblis glamorous, diabolic, devilish, this game real, realer than you think |
| Just think, spots get rushed, knots get touched, police busts |
| Yo what happened? |
| Police kicked door, yo he was rappin' |
| Your wife — what what! |
| What what! |
| Dressed indecent |
| A hundred crackers, son it’s the one-ten precinct |
| Yo time zone, cabron, madicon |
| Bitches callin me up, tryin to set me up Like Amina and Gina, kid they from Medina |
| Emanuel, keep fish scale to sell |
| General — clique deep with cartel |
| When niggas get locked, who you think they call for bail? |
| Shorty legs mad smooth, son, I’m left struck |
| Pussy plus dick could only equal a fuck |
| Fatty bangin', she analyze, my chain hangin' |
| We waitin, conversatin', Iblis Satan |
| Illegal life, watch police on bikes |
| Life still in shame, they monkey wrenched the whole game |
| A stress day, police watch the twelve K While I smoked shorty sipped chardonnay |
| I lay — lay back, cognac |
| And I dont even drink like that, I sell crack |
| Yo my ices gleam, type mean, sell to fiends |
| Shoot guns, parallel |
| Pistal (pistol), bust well |
| Kid whatever, desert storm like bad weather |
| Clique together, keep gats under the leather |
| You lightweight, what? |
| I’m heavyweight hold weight |
| Yo it’s jail niggas comin’home taking a shit |
| Yo illegal business, them niggas got dealt wit |
| Got smoked |
| God body cat, he sniff coke |
| Yo he’s old time, thinkin 'bout drinkin’his wine |
| Regulatin'9−9, get my crew out, survive shootout |
| Tactics, keep gats under the mattress |
| Player hater — my team a bunch of regulator |
| Set you up, you wont make it to the elevator |
| You never been to jail, I’m jail seen |
| Niggas seen, me in jail since thirteen |
| Shooting up scenes |
| Real niggas take cream |
| (people giving shout outs) |