| Fresher than a mothafuckin cocaine pusher
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| Got work under the stairs, got the gun in the bushes
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| Anybody want beef, come and meet the butcher
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| Bring the punk out of a nigga like Ashton Kutcher
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| Fuck you pay me! |
| like nasty hookers
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| I got that recipe they tell me pass the cook book
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| Fuckin wit lil weezy baby thats a good look
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| So hop your ass on the good book and sha mon'
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| I ain’t really that nigga that you would want to front on
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| I put ya whole life on ya front lawn. |
| come on
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| Son on that shit that none on, gun on
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| I can drive the whip and work the tooly while with one arm
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| Thats word to my mom, she worry if I’ma come home
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| I tell her dont trip, I’m runnin this bitch, a nigga just gettin his stunt on
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| Number one stunner junior! |
| hallelujah! |
| fuck ya! |
| I wish I never knew ya! |
| PEACE!
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| Chorus (Rick Ross)
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| I got a bird in the bag, and the bag on my back
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| Got a murder warrant in the magazine on my lap
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| Clear the scene!
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| Clear the scene!
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| Clear the scene
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| Let the g’s do they thing X2
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| Verse 2 Ransom
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| My hustle is gettin gully
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| You fuckers will get it from me
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| I touch 'em with every dummy, my duffel is filled wit money
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| You pop your lip and get ya man shot boy!
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| I make 'em lean and rock like Dem Franchise Boyz!
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| You couldn’t joust wit me, nigga there ain’t no doubt wit me
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| You run your mouth to me, I go hang you over ya balcony
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| They got it out for me, dont gotta spell it out for me
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| Jersey boy, got the whole city that could vouch for me
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| Dont try to play homie ill pull the eighty out, fade ya out
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| Put what you was thinkin on ya lady blouse
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| This a great rookie, ransom, pray for me
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| Take a chance, put this ape on like a bapes hooded
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| I heard 'em all, merkem all wit that dirty four
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| Servin raw, till im thirty four, thats a jersey boy
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| Thats weezy f, ransom, grease yes!
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| Hand guns, bland one, go ahead, bleed to death
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| Verse 3 Rick Ross
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| I’ma whip that dope like a nigga 'posed to do
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| Hundred thousand dollar whips when the boat roll through
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| Triple c’s, my people we triple g’s, while you looking all crooked,
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| my niggas they quick to squeeze!
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| Slap you with the four five, bitch who you rapping bout
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| When it come to weight, when I rick ross max it out
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| I’m the one that they askin bout, in the aston martin, weed sparkin,
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| flickin ashes out
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| Rick Ross will never ask you out
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| When I get your number I’ma come and hunt your fuckin mouth
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| You gotta suck dick, if you wanna touch chips
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| ?? |
| 3 5 7 can’t touch this
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| I-9 5, I traffic my body weight, in the big body benz, got the whole body laid
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| straight!
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| You straight?! |
| I hope ya ass is
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| I’ll leave ya ass as is |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Clear Da Scene , by - DJ Clue. Song from the album The Professional 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп