| Bitch I got beam like Scotty
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| Leave you spotty
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| When I point this aim at your brain
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| And leave them hollow thangs in your body
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| Lodi-dodi I drinks Bacardi
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| Gets dick hard drunk
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| When I’m off that skunk punk
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| And you don’t wanna dance tingo tango
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| I let my left right mingle mangle
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| To your jaw southpaw
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| It oughta be a law against these thangs I throw
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| About to lay some shit down with Celly Cel and Bo
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| From the Garden Blocc
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| Hillside got they Glock
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| Mack 10's
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| Mobb shit’ll neva end
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| I’m tryin' to have it all
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| So I ball 'till I’m gold
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| Mobbin' through a sixty usin' cruise control
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| I’m fuckin' wit that click nigga
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| That big nigga on the block
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| With Glocks, Rag Tops
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| Cut thangs on them gold knocks
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| Better watch your back 'cuz we strapped with teks
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| Push up in a blue Lex'
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| And dump caps to your neck
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| Mobb shit
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| Bustaz all die
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| Leather trench
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| Brim and two nines
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| Costume of a killa
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| At your bed side holdin' on two millas
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| Uggh we bust them teks close range
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| Livin' estranged
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| Called insane
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| 'Cuz when it’s on it’s on site no matter night or day
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| And you can’t fuck wit these
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| Get smothered with a half a key
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| Bitch
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| Celly Cel:
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| Give me the ball and I’mma fill the lane like 'Fenney
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| Hardaway 'cuz I’m out to get every penny
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| Any nigga disrespectin' when I’m checkin' for my scrilla
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| I know’m stilla wig splittin' killa ain’t no realla
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| Nigga realla than me
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| Mobbin' through your hood and takin' heads
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| Slumpin' hangin out the windows dumpin'
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| And shakin' 'Feds
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| So mind your own
|
| Cross the line and see how quick they gone
|
| Head blown decapitated caught slippin' in my zone
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| Fuckin' with this Mobb shit
|
| Niggas get they wig split
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| Uggh it’s the murder man posted at the front door
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| And when they comes I dumps with both four-four's
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| Letin' 'em have it 'cuz I’m static
|
| Dumpin the grass
|
| Killed his ass
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| And then kneel down and get my last laugh
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| Punk bitch shouldn’t have tripped
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| Now he lay dead in the ditch
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| Ass ripped
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| Suckin' on his own dick
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| Money talk
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| Bullshit walk
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| Fool this ain’t no sunshine
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| Three killas
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| One garden blocc, two hillside
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| This shit’s fucked and I am tag teamin' with the murder man
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| And that’ll hurt a man
|
| Niggas doin' dirt and
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| All you got to do is hop your ass in my 'Cut
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| We’ll be back tomorrow mornin'
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| Cell, you comin' or what?
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| I got this gut feelin'
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| About to make the killin' for a livin'
|
| The contract said the nigga wore a wire tap
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| And they want him dead
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| A hundred G’s for his head
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| And leave a bloody glove down where that body bled
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| Celly Cel:
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| Red rum is what I’m hummin' as I hit the fence
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| Homicide looked for prints but found no evidence
|
| Stuffed his head in the duffel bag and zipped it up
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| Them ballas want to see his face before they break us off a cut
|
| There it is cashed him like some chips at Reno
|
| Slid us a briefcase full of crispy ass C-Notes
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| Made the hit
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| Got the scrilla
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| Gone without a trace
|
| B behind the wheel
|
| And Bo Loc cuffed to the briefcase
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| Yo' nigga Cell got the chopper 'case they on my trail
|
| If it’s a tail then I’mma leave a 50 empty shells
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| Pistol smokin'
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| These niggas know we ain’t no jokin'
|
| Split up the tokens
|
| And I’m back in the hood loccin'
|
| Fuckin' with this Mobb shit
|
| Niggas get they wig split
|
| Yeah, like a real hillside strangler, yola slanger, tryin to get a
|
| Buck but if I’m fucked in the gas chamber
|
| The autopsy red, them niggas had some heat fo yo ass
|
| And never leave your block without your Glock, clip and mask
|
| Haters hatin but its all game related and that’s what we do bitch |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Get They Wig Split , by - Celly Cel. Song from the album Song'z U Can't Find, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп