Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Respect My Gangsta (Feat. Styles P), artist - Drag-On. Date of issue: 31.12.2003
Song language: English
Respect My Gangsta (Feat. Styles P) |
| Yeah, what up? |
| New York City, what up? |
| This your boy, to the Dash |
| S.P., Double R |
| Hell and Back |
| Styles straight out the penn |
| You don’t like my shit you could bite my dick |
| I got a case, I’ma fight my shit |
| I got a blunt, I’ma light my shit |
| I’ma chain smoke with cocaine sellers |
| Stick up kid took the game over |
| Niggas hate death, still gotta break necks |
| I’m at the dealer coppin shit they ain’t make yet |
| You think you’re nigga happy, I’m just trigger happy |
| Phone ring a lot, niggas throwin figgas at me |
| I got major plans, you get in the way |
| And your throat is the place where my banger lands |
| You don’t wanna anger me, upset me or startle me |
| You don’t want a part of me, I’m goin for the arteries |
| And I’m a colt-45 user, G-Host to the game of death |
| You about to die loser |
| This is Holiday and Dash-On |
| We burn a whole fuckin house down so I don’t need a mask on |
| You don’t respect my flow you gon respect my gangsta |
| Or get stabbed with this motherfuckin banger |
| Tell 'em P |
| You don’t like my shit you could bite my dick |
| I got a case I’ma fight my shit |
| This for the streets |
| Nigga don’t think cause you hot today you can’t be in the fridge tomorrow |
| If you a family man I’ll send you back your kids in a jar |
| You bought your soldiers, nigga I was raised with mine |
| I got three kids, four, five, but I raise my nine |
| I’ll have yall niggas missin your moms |
| Then let you find her wearin long sleeves but missin her arms |
| And ain’t nothin for me to twist ya wig |
| All I gotta do is puff some weed then listen to B.I.G |
| Then come back and level the city |
| I got my money up, my band is thirty, my bezzle is fifty |
| My vest weigh fifteen, bannana hold sixty |
| So I can run slow and hit you up swiftly |
| Extort rappers, they break me down half of their check |
| I keep a banger that’ll break down half of your neck |
| I done been through hell and back, jail and bail me back |
| Drag and S.P.'ll blow off half of your chest |
| It’s like a kodak moment come capture this |
| How I motherfuckin fracture shit, yall niggas talkin blaphemis |
| Motherfuckers we make classic shit, matter fact I’ll mash ya shit |
| Yall niggas like potatoes to me |
| And I might be high but you look good with a halo to me |
| And I ain’t got a problem wit a problem |
| Fuck 'em cause I know he gon die with a nine in his noggin |
| Yeah, Drag back with the Ghost |
| You know what that means, more vests and a lot more toast |
| I’m a lot older plus a lot more violent |
| Tip of my guns covered, it’s a lot more silent |
| My niggas pop off off imposts |
| Murder ya kinfolks and we ain’t even fuckin start wildin |
| So be cautious nigga or be in the coffin nigga |
| Cause we’ll bring it to the hardest or the softest nigga |