Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song guns.up, artist - clipping..
Date of issue: 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 |