Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Double Up , by - DomingoRelease date: 12.05.2002
Song language: English
Double Up |
| Everybody stand up |
| Flush is the man so let the grams cut |
| One shot in ya butt, my guns never tucked |
| Don’t want a slut, finessed by the art of the cut |
| Like Harlem World i’m doublin' up |
| Feds wanna challenge us |
| Off balance with silencers, locked up for calenders |
| Made men reversed my life, started again |
| Gone in the wind, respect niggas rhyming ten |
| Stuck on the grind, with two nines hugging ya spine |
| Addicted to crime, new car sitting on two dimes |
| With two dime, New York niggas, we love shine |
| Whether it’s yours or mine by the night yours is mine |
| That’s shilling week anyway, fuck it, it’s more shine |
| I’m 24, your part time you ain’t killing niggas |
| Walking round and grilling niggas |
| Acting like we ain’t feeling niggas |
| Pop bottle, roll with gorillas and breed drug dealers |
| North, South, East to West ya’ll gonna feel us |
| Word, we getting a job |
| Hustle up, double up |
| Cheddar starts kid, get that cheddar large |
| Pedal Hard, and daily par |
| Sky’s the limit, die for this shit |
| Living at |
| Right to the top baby! |
| Fuck them other cats I’m running with my own wolfpack |
| Keep fronting like you’se a thug and get your dome pushed back |
| Coz you don’t get down that tough shit you talk is profound |
| You’se a clown |
| Fuck around, come up town and get found |
| I keep a pocket full, none of you niggas can touch my funds |
| I don’t fight no more all I do is bust my guns |
| While you home relaxed i’m squeezin' Macs busting off caps |
| Those coward cats with all their platinum plaques get taxed |
| And I do Jooks, and slang Pies to make cream rise |
| It’s all about these green guys, front your whole team dies |
| How I’m. |
| Living so far? |
| Swell you can’t scar L |
| Headed to cartel, selling more cakes than carvel |
| And I’m labeled a kind thug, police got my line bugged |
| Hope I see the grave from old age and not a nine slug |
| I’m quick to bust a mean nut in some teen slut |
| Big L is clean cut, with more jewels than King Tut |
| Word, we getting a job |
| Hustle up, double up |
| Cheddar starts kid, get that cheddar large |
| Pedal Hard, and daily par |
| Sky’s the limit, die for this shit |
| Living at |
| Right to the top baby! |
| You know it’s, dough for hoes |
| Bank rolls, Rovers and clothes |
| And shots blow all them cowards and foes |
| Giacanna proud with the pros, foul mode |
| We quick reachers, spear with the fearless til you drip liters |
| Flip divas, them chicks, eager to strip to they tits and beaver |
| Sip Cris' and sniff coke off the beater |
| Yeah we ball big baby, look off the meter |
| You should see us, it’s movie star status |
| Scar lackers lost cabbage, drip the Pablo Escobar fabrics |
| Froze the road we chose, not a pretty route, let it out |
| Grimey and grittied out, stack dough, jiggy out |
| Dime bitches behavin like ya sex slave skizzied out |
| Some nigga dizzy south, til he’s out, busy mouth |
| Swerve to the curb, hit the bird split the kitties out |
| We kidnap for trap blackmail for a gang a mill |
| Spot banger himself, fishscale rocks under the fingernails |
| The blood trail lead to a corpse |
| Treat my appetite for greed with a torch |
| For keys to a Porsche, to breeze in the loft |
| Roll up my hand sheets with the force |
| We squeeze off, no need for remorse, playa |
| Forty wild goons, we forty Calhouns |
| You die forty foul dooms for forty coward moves |
| Bless sparkle, and spark until my shorty style rules |
| Giancanna dead? |
| Widespread, I’ll be a 40 mile tune baby |
| Word, we getting a job |
| Hustle up, double up |
| Cheddar starts kid, get that cheddar large |
| Pedal Hard, and daily par |
| Sky’s the limit, die for this shit |
| Living at |
| Right to the top baby! |