Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Away From the Door, artist - Cappadonna. Album song The Struggle, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 13.06.2005
Record label: Code Red
Song language: English
Get Away From the Door |
| Yo! |
| Get away from the door |
| Everybody get the fuck back |
| Staten Island, stand up |
| I live a street life, nothin' but hard times and strife |
| I be stuck on the block try’nna make things right |
| Sold crack for a living, now I could write |
| Not just for the paper, for the sacrifice |
| Vibe with me, the cops come ride with me |
| I’m all in the hood, yeah nigga, slide with me |
| If the feds start lookin' for Don, survive with me |
| Experience my ill pain, the broke windows in the rain |
| Crackheads goin' insane |
| Marlo stuck dope in his vein, lift him up |
| Bodies in the back of the hood, stiffen up |
| It get ugly and shit, why it gotta be this? |
| We came a long way, fuck cheaters |
| We don’t wanna bust the Heaterz |
| No speakin' on the phone, we don’t trust receivers (yeah) |
| Park Hill be the real niggas and Don' Divas (it ain’t over, it just begun) |
| Enough of your bullshit, my niggas’ll pull quick |
| Berettas and full quicks, guerillas and convicts |
| Armed and dangerous, bombs and bangers, kid |
| Stormin' the game with it, calm but anxious and |
| I’ll whip yo ass for this, come with the cash or it’s |
| On with the blast and it’s, gonna get hazardous |
| Niggas should know by now, niggas should know my style |
| Shaolin, hold me down, frontin', there goes the pow! |
| Why it gotta be like this |
| Police fightin' us with night sticks, niggas carryin' ice picks |
| Sometimes, niggas we do crimes, I ain’t gotta tell you |
| Niggas throwin' up signs, niggas shipped to Bellview |
| Son, don’t let coke dog smell you |
| Run if you packin' something, do what I tell you |
| Skate, nigga, never let jake nail you |
| I got caught up in the grind but I fell through |
| Now I’m back on the spot, keep my eye on you |
| Make a phone call, kid, or put a spy on you. |
| And this is dedicated to all my niggas in the ghetto |
| Big dimes and C Rule, jugs of Palmetto |
| I’m in too deep and I just can’t let go |
| Catchin' my pain, real niggas that respect dough |
| Enough of your bullshit, my niggas’ll pull quick |
| Berettas and full quicks, guerillas and convicts |
| Armed and dangerous, bombs and bangers, kid |
| Stormin' the game with it, calm but anxious and |
| I’ll whip yo ass for this, come with the cash or it’s |
| On with the blast and it’s, gonna get hazardous |
| Niggas should know by now, niggas should know my style |
| Shaolin, hold me down, frontin', there goes the pow! |
| It’s my world! |
| Fucked up, stick 'em, ugh |
| 2−4, Graveyard Shift |
| The names and the faces have changed |
| But the game, is still the same… |