| Jay!
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| Fuck that
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| This is it right here, baby!
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| You know what it is
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| Yo, I used to have bad luck
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| Now you might see me in a Jag truck
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| Mad stuck, either with a dime or a bad duck
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| Double-R tee with the matching bandanna
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| .38-snub, blue steel with no hammer
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| And I see y’all niggas tryna glance at the 'Kiss
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| 'Cause I walk around with your whole advance on my wrist
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| Boning your women, drunk off Coronas and lemon
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| And you know I’m still writing the mean, lighting the green
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| I need the bucket, even though I look, right in the beam
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| Judge find out it’s my team, he boost they bails
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| Niggas throw us on they album, try to boost they sales
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| We put our pies on the table and our eyes on a label
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| 'Cause them rednecks up in the mountains’ll try to slay you
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| They call me raspy, tell you what I want you to know
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| Fuck what you ask me, you probably don’t want me to blow
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| I got a lot of horsepower so I’m able to skip
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| Usually a good nigga, even though I’m able to flip
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| You pay 30 for the 'Kiss (Uh-huh) a 100 for The L.O.X. |
| (Yeah)
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| And if we cool, then I write a hook for a drop
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| Whatever’s in the bank is my bet, a z-bull's my pet
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| And you can bet he’ll get the legs and the neck
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| Uh-huh, yeah, aiyyo
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| Yo, when my gun bust, send niggas to the fish like Swanson
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| New York’s youngest Bumpy Johnson, I put fear in y’all heads
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| Sheek Louch, type of nigga gasoline y’all beds
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| And that’s warning, if you all alive in the mornin', that’s fine
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| Now I suggest you hit the block and get what’s rightfully mine
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| I want PC, see me? |
| Tuck in your chains
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| I got niggas my pops' age that lifestyle ain’t changed
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| It’s like, wake up, move a brick, half of it slow
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| Make car money, check with Sheek, go fuck with a ho (ha!)
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| I rock a waist length mink, do-rag under my fitted
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| (Style on these niggas!)
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| And I don’t even want waves, Timbs be halfway new (Huh?)
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| That’s Sheek in the dress-up club cause I don’t fuck with shoes
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| And for my nigga’s life, I swear to the Bible, let it be told
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| I put thirty in your head, all in the same hole
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| 'Cause we got the same goal, and you try and tamper with mine?
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| Don’t make me motherfuckin' leave you with some shit in your spine
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| Fuck with me, you be a «was nigga»: «Nigga WAS dope»
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| «Nigga WAS gettin money» 'fore I extorted your coke
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| 'Ju crazy?
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| Aiyyo, catch me with a .38, box and shells
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| In a '98 Lincoln, eating pasta shells
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| Order to go, always got a box of Ls
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| Blow, stay on the low, get a Heine and swig
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| I’m Pinero, so I hate a snake, rat, or a pig
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| I pop shit 'cause I’m the second-best; |
| the first was B.I.G
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| Y’all niggas is sonned out, let me speak to your father
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| 'Cause I like to play chess and I swing the revolver
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| If I don’t like a nigga, I don’t even be bothered
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| I spit, I’m just a crooked nigga going legit
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| You hold your nine if you holding a brick, common sense
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| Fed drama, you hit the Bahamas, get bent
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| L.O.X. |
| get respect like Sonny from Bronx Tale
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| Us and DMX: the Ruff Ryder cartel
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| Thirsty to live, or y’all niggas eager to die?
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| I tell all my niggas ride, you won’t leave with a dime
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| Motherfucker!
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| Yeah, yeah, I’m a monster
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| I sleep whole winters; |
| wake up and spit summers
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| Ghetto nigga, putting up Will Smith numbers (Ugh!)
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| Surrounded by Sixes and Hummers, bitches among us
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| Trying not to let this bullshit become us
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| It started from hunger, 'til it all went insane
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| Now bitches notice the chains now that I hit my number
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| The chickens I twisted (Ugh) see the digits unlisted (Yeah)
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| The beeper done changed
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| You dead, bitch; |
| the Reaper done came
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| I suggest niggas stop speakin my name
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| 'Cause trust me, y’all can still feel the heat in the rain
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| I keep creeping, streets keep watching, I keep popping
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| Niggas is hotheads and the bullets is heat-seeking
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| Jay flow for pesos; |
| chase hoes, NOT
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| I just circle 'round the block in a drop
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| Tell 'em jump through the top (Uh-huh)
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| Where the sun roof used to be
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| I can see y’all not used to me
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| Nigga flows like none other (Ugh!)
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| I’m the meanest, toughest Don Dada to gun-butt ya
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| You the type that bust a lot of shots and none touch ya (Fuck)
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| I’m the type that get excited, when the gun touch ya
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| Motherfuckers! |
| Ugh
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| Y’all niggas bout to witness a dynasty like no other
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| Uh uh-uh uh-uh
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| Uh-huh-uh-huh uh, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
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| I’m headed nowhere fast (Ugh), runnin' in place, gat in my waist
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| Niggas wanted a taste, but wouldn’t come to my face (Ugh)
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| So what that mean? |
| You cats is playin' games again
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| So now what I do? |
| Start namin' names again (WHAT!)
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| All you motherfuckers know that I speak from the heart (UH!)
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| Play like you don’t know, L.O.X. |
| is gon' bark
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| We can take it there, but to make it fair, get some more niggas
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| Styles, Sheek, Jay… We comin' with like four niggas (AIGHT!)
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| Y’all niggas best to stop playin'
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| It’ll be the ones you forgotten about
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| That’ll get you shot in your mouth
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| ARF! |
| ARF! |
| Got my dogs covered (UH!)
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| Plus it’s all gravy, like chicken when it’s smothered (WHAT!)
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| It’s Dark, and I LOVE IT! |
| (UH!)
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| Get him, boy, let him loose (C'MON!)
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| You want it with the dog or the gun? |
| Let him choose (C'MON!) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Blackout , by - DMX. Song from the album The Best Of DMX, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп