Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Crime Scene, artist - Dave BingDate of issue: 03.08.2008
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Crime Scene |
| The fuck is wrong with y’all niggas |
| You think this shit is a game nigga |
| Like it ain’t about murder and cocaine nigga |
| The fuck is wrong wit y’all |
| It’s Murder Inc nigga |
| With some Dave Bing shit |
| Stop gettin it fucked up |
| Yeah |
| Yo the first dollar for me |
| I admit it the block did it |
| Murder came with it |
| Nice cars and dime bitches |
| Hangin out late |
| Nicknamed the milk-crate |
| But on a bad note came jail time and jam nines |
| Can you feel the rhyme, feel a thug trying to shine |
| On the grind, you better keep your ass in line |
| Cuz from the get-get-go nigga, say it ain’t so nigga |
| You was watchin me through your window nigga |
| Doing crimes, selling twenties for dimes |
| Middle finger in the air screamin fuck one time |
| As you peep out, don’t got the balls to speak out |
| Scary reach out, scream murder and pull the Glock out |
| Cock it back, then tell your crew to relax |
| Take a deep breath, now take six to the chest |
| Ten to the neck, just incase you wearin a vest |
| And thats the whole sixteen coppin in safeen |
| Motherfucker when you see Tah |
| Bet I’m holdin a fifth and a full clip |
| At any given moment to flip on some bullshit |
| Spit it sick, flowin like alien |
| And I’m way beyond flashin |
| So if you see crumbs nigga, get to dashin |
| I mastered the game, accurate aim |
| Put two in you |
| Slappin your dame, jump back in the Range |
| For this hover dough |
| Rapidly gunnin the floor like a calico |
| Let it rip, reload, and spit a hundred more |
| Give you a reason to run, oh, you gung-ho |
| I hope y’all niggas really ready cuz my steel is heavy |
| And feel no petty for those stuffed in a box |
| Nigga peep it and watch, how the sun glisten on rocks |
| I pissed on the blocks and hustle for scraps |
| But now I’m on some click-clack |
| Keep your eyes on the cash, gimme that |
| Where they at, y’all niggas want it |
| We right here, let me make myself clear |
| Nigga we can’t be touched |
| The fuck y’all want |
| From rob men that rob grown men |
| And be the one hustlin til the one come in |
| The worst niggas cock back, and spit for gin |
| Til the day we win niggas is gonna fall from wood hall |
| Thugs who seen it all, this is war |
| The streets ain’t the same no more |
| Niggas came to keep the roar but ??? on the floor |
| Let’s explore, whoevers quick on the draw is the law |
| The fuck you set these rules for |
| It’s the streets |
| My code is the heat plus we all gotta eat |
| Take a seat, and watch the streets get runned by thugs |
| Now stand up, and watch my hustlin niggas rush the club |
| Automatic love, fingerprints, clubs b, 38 snubb |
| Motherfucker, do you know me? |
| Ronnie Bump with a four-five that won’t leave you lonely |
| My slugs will be your homeys |
| Pop the Glock and make you know me |
| I was only fourteen doin my thing |
| Gettin cream in Jamaica Queens |
| Niggas scheme for they dreams |
| Come clean, if not, you gots to get shot |
| Give me the ooh-op, and let me hold down the block |
| Fuck cops, I pump crack rocks on back blocks |
| Lace shots, at them snitch niggas, snap box |
| Black Child couldn’t go play with the children |
| Cuz I was too buisy pumpin up them jums in the buildin |
| While most kids went to school to maintain |
| I was in the spot cookin up cocaine |
| The game got me, at eighteen I got sloppy |
| Caught a body and shot up his house party |
| Time to relocate, I better transport my weight |
| Pick up all my papes and bounce out of state |
| Catch me in Virginia I ain’t gonna never surrender |
| Unless I’m dead or injured and thats somethin to rememeber nigga |
| Yo it ain’t nuthin but murder one |
| Niggas holdin they guns and bustin em |
| My niggas foul son we spray up the block |
| And leave bystanders numb and braindumb |
| Niggas heard the shots but where they commin from |
| I squeezed off and hit his bitch up, my aim’s off |
| But fuck it, nigga rob the block for twelve hundred |
| So I came off, if it’s murder you want it’s murder I give |
| Makin it harder for niggas to live for you and your kids |
| No question, murder perfection dog |
| I’m runnin through you and into the Lord I never prayed for |
| God knows I’m layin for him bustin at the sky |
| My aim’s on him, my man Kurt died the blames on him |
| You better believe him, killin niggas dead for this dream |
| By any means I’m deadin your team, destroyin your dreams |
| Now hows bout this nigga O goin all out for the dough |
| Yo I show out, fuck around and get blowed out |
| Ugh |