Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Murder Weapon, artist - E.S.G.. Album song Boss Hogg Outlaws, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 18.02.2002
Record label: SoSouth
Song language: English
Murder Weapon |
| My boy C on the track, putting it down like this |
| Live from the Manger baby |
| You boys out there on that chrome, watch your back |
| Slippers get got, feel this |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| Now keep the sell us on the real, it’s from the man with the grill |
| E.S.G. |
| what’s up Bun B, you from the land of the trill |
| Trying to get our hand on a mill, don’t give a damn how they feel |
| I know my hood real, you see us working wood wheel |
| What’s the deal, we still riding dirty in Texas |
| Got something you never seen, a 4−30 Lexus |
| Riding reckless bending corners, you slip you’s a goner |
| That cat in that mask, was something mo' than marijuana |
| Yokohamas for twenties, riding vogues with swangas |
| Three TV with a DVD, Playstation 2 with disc changer |
| From Southside to the Manger, Boss Hoggs be wrecking |
| Leaving jackers confused, like presidential elections |
| Bubble dried what we got, where we put our cash |
| Keep on crying bout us, I’ma put my foot in your ass |
| Put a hole in your mask, for trying to stop our shine |
| Got a Glock in my lap, at all times |
| We keep one up in the chamber, strapped for danger |
| These boys’ll get you, for your twenties or swangas |
| Midwest, Dirty South, represent where you from |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| Slippers get got, jackers get shot |
| If I catch em trying to plot, in my parking lot |
| They got me for my drop, now I shop at Topeka lot |
| I wasn’t high, cause Rodney D. Young, shot me a knot |
| Got back on my feet, one month later, back on the street |
| Twenties inches I be, on my big body fleet |
| Yeah you caught me slipping, but I’ma charge it to the game |
| But when I catch you slipping, I’ma put one in your frame |
| Gon be a mask in Texas, but without change songs |
| Especially if them folks, pass them gun control laws |
| I’m trying to roll like my papa, retire one day |
| Till then I’m on MLK, it’s on found sun down |
| Now what’s up Southside, we smoking trees to the dawn |
| Forget to turn the alarm, and find your TV’s gone |
| Get your brains blown, that Glock’ll pop your ass |
| Or should I let the electric fist, shock your ass |
| We keep one up in the chamber, strapped for danger |
| These boys’ll get you, for your twenties or swangas |
| East Coast, West Coast, represent where you from |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| We keep one up in the chamber, strapped for danger |
| These boys’ll get you, for your twenties or swangas |
| Midwest, Dirty South, represent where you from |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| Ride with me, and come see what that North be like |
| We sip syrup and Sprite, and let our mind take flight |
| Bub light shine bright, when we creep at night |
| With red eyes and bad sight, cause we don’t sleep at night |
| I’m from the side known for jacking, placking and pistol packing |
| It’s like New Jersey Drought, but these boys ain’t acting |
| They’ll break you off, if you live on the North or the South |
| Cause it don’t matter where you from, or where you floss |
| It’s every man for himself, out here |
| And that’s why we thugged out, and ride with no fear |
| It look like it’s getting better, year by year |
| But I still got my chrome baretta, here in the clear |
| But it ain’t all bad, matter fact it’s all good |
| Cause it go down, every night up in my hood |
| We sip pints, blow kill and just chill |
| We all from the North, but we all gone still for real |
| (*talking*) |
| Ha, that’s on the real baby |
| Know I’m saying, 2001 2000 and 2 |
| Huh, Boss Hogg Outlaws we ain’t half stepping |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| It go down, I don’t care where you at |
| What’s up East Coast, know I’m saying |
| New York, down Jersey, Virginia, all them boys out there |
| I know y’all got y’all murder weapon |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| What what, Midwest ha, where you at know I’m saying |
| St. Louis, on up through, I know them boys out there |
| Got they murder weapon, you know what I’m saying, keep it real nigga |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| What what, all my West Coast dogs, you know what I’m saying |
| That C walking, B walking doing your god damn thang |
| I know you got your motherfucking murder weapon out there baby |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon) |
| Huh huh, what what down here in the Dirty South |
| That’s how we do it, Boss Hogg Outlaws, Big Dinero Entertainment |
| Boss Hogg Entertainment, S-E-S, what what what |
| My big dog Sin huh, that’s the style |
| Them boys got they murder weapon, what’s up M-O-E |
| Ha it’s going down boy, feel this |
| (can't never leave the crib, without a murder weapon), huh |