Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song N.S.E.W., artist - Shawnna. Date of issue: 31.12.2001
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
N.S.E.W. |
| Shit, Got a nigga gone off a fifth of Fayo and apple juice |
| Throw up a deuce, Keep my hat banged to the left and ain’t scared to act a fool |
| So what you gone do, you betta not speak unless spoken to cause I bust that |
| shit’it |
| Dump that Philly, I could back dro wit a lac wit a yak, gettin drunk off in it Through the Chi like North, North, South, South |
| Niggas talk shit put that work in they mouth |
| In the East, East, West, West, niggas bust back put a slug in ya chest |
| Cause I’m hood, hood, gutter, gutter |
| Shauna got juice like a muh’fucka |
| Hood of the hustlas and bloodsuckas |
| Back in the bricks wit that good |
| Fep, in the spot, buyin yak wit my balla camp |
| All them bitches holla’n bout is (Where them fuckin dollas at) |
| Yeeah, I got them hos, I got them O’s, I got Air phones for those hos |
| And yeeah, I got white phones, got black phones, I got crack weed in the floor |
| So get on the grind, Get on some lime, Get on mine, let ya mind take course |
| Got dip in the ride, Switchin the tires, Whippin the fire 85 Chevy Sport |
| See if you got 16's, I will make that pliz’ay |
| And I’m dressed like a dope boy, throwin up them triz’eys |
| East side, whole Masterfield rainbow |
| Flight soles, kinda roll where them thangs blow |
| Good wood, not wastin that payroll |
| Five hos trapped, boys got rapers |
| My size got air nigga rep that |
| We ride, rock sells and I bet that |
| Car is a gutless, pistol is a must bitch |
| Let a nigga know that his head I will bust quick |
| Some slum niggas know what I’m talkin bout |
| Lil rob fillin hos in the parkin lot |
| Gimme head while I’m bustin that two track |
| It was trill, hit the fence, never looked back |
| Big thug, hit clubs in the fifth book |
| Dollar Boy, let em know how to rip folk |
| If a bitch broke, gotta let her slide, though |
| 2−0 represent East side ho Hell, I’m up in the club, 4 whippin up, just throwin up pitch forks to (what, |
| what) |
| Tupac, I’m a rider, hoppin out, Gangsta crip disciples (Yeeah!) |
| Wilin on the side of the club and dressed in blood colors, waitin on a sign to |
| (Yeeah!) |
| Pull out the gats and attack on them boys that thought that |
| (they thought it couldn’t happen) |
| They blastin and screamin, we ain’t friends, ain’t no need to pretend |
| (Shawty!) Split the mens, for my homey that got killed last weekend |
| His brains was left leakin while his body got cold |
| Now it’s y’all life that y’all owe |
| Time to even the score, case closed |
| (Scratching) |