Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pass The Glock, artist - Cuban Link. Date of issue: 17.01.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pass The Glock |
| You can’t stop T-Squad |
| You can’t stop T-Squad |
| Can’t stop it, can’t stop it |
| Somebody call the cops |
| For us to stop’ll take all of they got |
| Uptown and the Bronx, my Squad is legends off of the block (Terror Squad!) |
| Deep in the borough where the corners is smoldering hot |
| My team is known for smokin the Glock |
| To the hole in your rock (Terror Squad!) |
| I murder men wit the poisonous flow, my pen |
| Hurt em for they dough and they GM’s wit Mac 10 |
| No relaxin, straight action when it’s on |
| Call up Pun and The Don, come up heavily armed |
| Niggas better be calm or I’mma set the alarm |
| And a hundred strong’ll form in shape of a bomb |
| My squads’ll forever bomb wit a war like Lebanon |
| And we hardcore till we dead and gone so go ahead and mourn |
| Aiyyo Seis I’m pacin back and forth |
| Wit thoughts of bein trapped up north |
| But after I come off wit it yacht and Porsche are out the door |
| So cock the four pound (four pound) |
| Lock the fort down (fort down) |
| From New York to Georgetown (Georgetown) |
| Knockin off clowns that clap for more crowns |
| It’s war now so toss the nine cuz I’mma floss and shine |
| You lost your mind if you thought your rhymes was comin close to my |
| Lines that drop science like Einstein |
| Applyin the iron to your spine |
| And find you dyin on primetime |
| Ayyo we break barriers, we recipe holders and cake carriers |
| That dominate the devil tryin to make the fake marry us |
| Hilarious how we mute crews, and nigga this is true news |
| Dudes’ll blow you outta ya two shoes |
| Who chose to front it, they don’t really want it |
| Yo I stay Philly blunted, Prospect wit the nine milly gun it |
| I leave you dented by the way Glock pop |
| Take a hot shot, push ya knot back like a drop top |
| Freeze like coke in the drop or ya float when I’m totin the Glock |
| I’m blast any feelings you catch from this to emotional stop |
| Host it on top, label the worst to the topic |
| Worshippin violence, push you back |
| Like a cursor does the words by the silence |
| HUSH, slow up before you blow ya clutch |
| Hold my forty-four wit lust, an then I’ll take your soul like a holy touch |
| The tat on my arm’s like the rhymes I write |
| Cuz Armageaddon rivals life |
| Give my hype I might bust it tonight |
| My shit bang like a clock |
| I pull your chain till it pop |
| Put one in your brain for fuckin wit the creme of the crop |
| Sayin I’m hot, while you playin I’m blazin the spot |
| Makin you bop, makin my way to the top |
| Breakin the lock, takin a shot at the title |
| Ready to rock at my rivals |
| Like Pac everything I drop is the Bible |
| Cop it on vinyl, there’s just a little cursing |
| If you want ya head to burst |
| Play it in reverse, you’ll hear the devil’s version |
| Hear the metal’s burstin, there’s a terror lurkin |
| It’s a certain, whoever searchin to find God when my clips inserted |
| Words are blurted when we bust guns, you heard it |
| Left ya *gun shot* murdered |
| I know ya *scream* was stunned by the verdict |
| I’m a free man, kill your free lance for only three grand |
| Makin an examp for my other workers and cut off each hand |
| You greedy mothafuckas I’ll see you in hell |
| Jealous niggas wanna see me in jail fiendin to tell |