Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Can't U Tell Remix , by - Dj NoodlesSong from the album Can't U Tell, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 31.12.2010
Record label: Fix Your Face
Song language: English
Can't U Tell Remix |
| My father was heavy in the dope game |
| I’m talking early 80s |
| You know them coke days |
| At a tender age I was breastfed cocaine |
| That was my first intro to the dope game |
| Grew up watching Tony Montanas in real life |
| It’s only right I wanted to be Tony in real life |
| At 14 I started selling weed, moved on to acid, LSD |
| My mom found a stash and flushed, the whole thing |
| Oh Shit, now its time for a plan B |
| Caught my first 8-Ball at 120 |
| Broke it drown and flipped it for 3 |
| Did it a couple times, flipped O-Z's |
| From there, I was on my way keys |
| Got saved by the rap game, and that was it for me |
| Damn I came from the dope game |
| Dope game raised me |
| I’ve been getting money since the 80s |
| While my hoes tryna tame me |
| I was making sure some fool paid me |
| While rap guys tell fiction |
| I’m in the courtroom beating the conviction' |
| I play hard in Detroit like a piston (what else?) |
| My weed bags be chunky, call it Lipton |
| Lipton, homie what it be like |
| Sit the pot in the ice so it freeze right |
| Take the cookie out, put it on the bounty |
| I’m from the go-game, homie kings county (what else?) |
| Master criminal activity |
| Flatness squeeze, clack, clack willingly |
| Credit card scams, i bust checks on 'em |
| Anything to get green like the jets on 'em |
| I swing bars like dope, blow |
| My 16's be the o’s, my flow be the coke |
| Money ain’t green even though i got soap |
| The trap house looking like a ski slope |
| Money, that is my wife |
| Put a ring on my wallet and guard it with my life |
| You see the coup, the products in the muffler |
| Call me Larry Flynt, jack I’m a hustler |
| When it comes to this shit I’m a monster |
| And when it comes to this shit you win an Oscar |
| Welch ass nigga you’s a Simp |
| Me, I’m a pimp, leg’s fine but I limp |
| Got cane, candy red rain |
| Jay got Beyonce, I settle for Celine |
| Cash heavy gotta move it with a crane |
| My bread crazy, bank account insane |
| When Trazz on the track it’s certified crack |
| Baggie hit the streets you can watch your money stack |
| Rap’s like the crack game, now I’m in a trap |
| Pay me 30 stacks, see your money double back, uh) |
| My 16's come out doper than codeine (what?) |
| One verse from Trazz, get you bigger than protein (yeah) |
| Music b-boy, beats i destroy |
| Flick my style and watch the pockets key lord |
| Whether rap or crack all the same (same) |
| Heroin flow, got it running through my veins |
| Stay in my post while they fiend for a dose |
| And see my product travel all the way down the coast |
| Oooh, It’s like a virus, they got to try this |
| I love the green you’d swear I was Irish |
| I write my bars and sell them by the jars (jars) |
| The fiends here can’t get enough, like el da barge, know why? |
| Now you can A-town stomp or you can rock away |
| But when I was hustling I never gave a rock away |
| They say St. Louis raised me, certified 80s baby |
| Been through a lot of shit for months, like a pregnant lady |
| All I remember is crip and blood differences |
| Some niggas made it out but others we remember them |
| But on the better note know we all getting money now |
| My past was no joke but everything funny now |
| I’m talking stress-free Bentley is nestle |
| Mr. What-the-hook-gone-be (Murphy lee!) that’s me |
| Spending all money, sometimes on your honey |
| Taking turns for me, she making that to-go money |
| I’m glad I’m smart enough not to do a lot of stuff |
| Never had to prove that the young dude was hard enough |
| Even though I came from the city where I came from |
| Moves made all around me but I ain’t saying nothing |
| Can’t you tell that I came from the dope game |
| 150 grams of soda mixed with cocaine |
| The iron chef, I whip it up in hell’s kitchen (tell 'em) |
| Shit it’s all in the wrist, boy I’m nice with it |
| Get a coffee pot hot, drop some ice in it |
| Take it out, chop it down, put a price with it |
| Frank Lucas had the blue magic |
| I’m like Freeway Rick, I move traffic |
| I’m a hustler baby, things tryin' talk me down |
| I’m like fuck you, pay me |
| Funds got bigger, guns got bigger |
| The block got dry then we robbing them dealers |
| When they come through, then we at it again |
| Cooking pies, do or die, but we at it to win |
| Got goons that’ll bust, tell 'em where and when |
| Wide city dope boy, I got money to spend |
| Motherfucker! |