Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Dangerous , by - DJ Clue. Song from the album The Professional 2, in the genre R&BRelease date: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Dangerous |
| Dont get nuthin confused about me, this nigga hea throw clips |
| You think you could hold three, nigga hea go six |
| I bring +Heat+ like Deniro flix, my team lock and load |
| And rock and roll like Aerosmith |
| Fuck cops I got Cochran Shapiro chips |
| One point five in ice in each earlobe shit |
| Fuck who you and your man go get |
| Me and cat take +Pussy's+ on boat rides on some Soprano shit |
| Move wit troops in cougar coupes |
| Like beeno and notes for a G a piece, they’ll remove your roof |
| Ya better spread when the ruger shoot |
| Paul Cane got fire, everything ya heard on Clue was the truth |
| It’s like who want what what ever |
| Tou and your man play tough ya gon get plucked together |
| At gun point gettin stuck together |
| Black Benz tinted out, buggy headlights stuck together |
| We ain’t jokin no more (This ain’t a game to us) |
| Got a lot of hungry niggas that came wit us (We dangerous) |
| Cock back aim and bust |
| (Lady Luck, Paul Cane, who could bang wit us) |
| They said I rap like a man, and act like a man |
| So when it come to war she gon clap like a man |
| Short arrogant wit this gat up in my hand |
| Chicks dont play cute I’m still attractin your man |
| Rock many lands, Japan to Philly sands |
| Luck stay ghetto like Rican dolla bands |
| Only thing I take serious is garments and money |
| And late periods |
| Screamin in a 2 by 2, too fly 2 seater |
| Too much ice, too cold, 2 heaters |
| Love men but got lesbian guns |
| That love to lick off at you pussies for fun |
| So play dumb in these dum dups |
| Hit you where you pump cum |
| Stick you for your lump sums |
| We the ones you run from |
| Till the day my lungs done for blocks |
| I hit hard like Ronnie Lotts |
| Lady Luck got it locked |
| Ya talkin greasy like Paul ain’t a nigga wit fire |
| Like I ain’t got guns or killers for hire |
| Got wolves that’ll run through mask and arms |
| Like point break clear the safe out and smash your moms |
| Over 40 years old still blastin chrome |
| Smiles never cross they face till there’s cash in palm |
| Cause they still do murders for bucks |
| Gave em put hollow points through you then pass the burner to Luck |
| We like a 2 G Bonnie and Clyde, back to back in beef |
| Wit two heats a piece, mami gon' ryde |
| Spit four, she behind me wit five |
| Y’know Paul Cane and Lady Luck MO catch homo’s and slide |
| Before we drop the guns |
| Wipe off the prints push the pedal through the floor |
| And get away back to the bricks, ya don’t want nothin wit us |
| Paul Cane, Street Life, Desert Storm, we dangerous |