Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song guns.up , by - clipping.. Release date: 10.02.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
guns.up |
| It’s over |
| You’re gonna love us once we dead and gone |
| We what the game’s been missing but we been here all along |
| They out there prayin' to Jesus asking «What would 'Hovah do?» |
| I’d die for what you love, I’d slit my fucking throat for you |
| Blood in, blood out |
| Blood on the dance floor |
| The Michael Jackson of this rapping, what you dancing for? |
| The Charlie Manson of this mansion, Marilyn Monroe |
| Singing «Happy Birthday» to an industry that’s full of hoes |
| Swiss cheesed up |
| When the gun cock, they freeze up |
| So I gun top, grabbing my cock, mean mugging the speakers |
| When backed into a corner, every animal attacks |
| You and me ain’t nothing but mammals |
| You and me ain’t nothing |
| And this rap shit ain’t nothing |
| Drool instead of spit |
| You thought you was a peach, they change you up like you’s a pit |
| And it’s impossible to part with partying and shit |
| Take three of these, don’t call me |
| This is the prescription, bitch |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up if you getting ready for the |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| And if you’re dying, you should pump your fist and hold on |
| All these rappers scared |
| Being what they are |
| I run through condoms like weed smokers run through cheap cigars |
| I blow through weed and Swishers like tornadoes blow through houses |
| Disney on these hoes, shouts to all my Mickey Mouses |
| Little plastic coffin |
| Little red Corolla |
| Little patience for the doctor, little supernova |
| A funeral for stars |
| Everybody carry guns |
| Body bag is marked «Public Enemy No. 1» |
| Flavor of the month, I’m licking ice cream paint |
| She like, «You just don’t care» |
| Like I’m the one to fucking blame |
| I gotta feed these kids, they want a poster child |
| It’s either rapping or back to the crack and blocks gone wild |
| Block’s gone, I can’t go back |
| They don’t know me and my set |
| I’m out this motherfucker, Dubai on a private jet |
| «Private Ryan» on the screen, my captain offered dub |
| They tried to ground me so I joined the Mile-High Club |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up if you getting ready for the |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| And if you’re dying, you should pump your fist and hold on |
| Work hard for this pimp cup |
| For the tattoos, tears, and the chains |
| Made a milli off a memoir, so what? |
| Pimping never made away with the pain |
| Still a nine on the dresser when I’m dressin' |
| Never be without a Wesson when I’m steppin' |
| Shoot a sucker in the chest in when he flexin' |
| Text back, it’s a western, leave a mess in |
| Round here, we shoot the messenger |
| Care less if a messiah or desire |
| Cause it ain’t no fun if the homies can’t get on my level |
| I’m on fire |
| See, the tire is y’all got all of my attire |
| So fly that I made a call to my supplier |
| He’ll fly ya |
| Bring the house from the sticks to the haystack |
| Quick, tell me who will be the sire 'sides I |
| I am practically super-sized |
| Practiced thugging since birth |
| Fresh kicks is a new disguise |
| I stay ten toes to the turf |
| Tell them «Shoot for the eyes» |
| Before they see me, I skrrt |
| I’m a dirty motherfucker riding dirty in the track |
| Until I dirty work enough to make a motherfucker hurt |
| Man, put hurting on them hoes |
| Man, put a fortune up they nose |
| Men know what men know |
| But men don’t know to get low when we slow in the rental |
| Your average tollbooth phantom |
| Clock around my neck |
| Cock back and I pop caps |
| I don’t know if they pop back |
| Crack it, I can’t have anybody jacking my respect |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up if you getting ready for the |
| Throw your guns up |
| Throw your guns up |
| And if you’re dying, you should pump your fist and hold on |