Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Trouble, artist - Lota NervDate of issue: 10.12.2015
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Trouble |
| I love what I’m doin' |
| I’ve always wanted to say |
| I started when I was about five years |
| Sense, man, gettin' it started |
| Y’all know the flow is retarded |
| So I’ma keep it goin' regardless |
| Who the hardest that you ever heard? |
| Maxin' out on every word |
| Still got a shotgun flow, mixed with a Dese verse |
| Gift wrapper or rappers, solo, clapper of clappers |
| The fresh Dickie suit is under the mattress |
| «Ain't Nuthin' but a G Thang», we bring surgeries |
| Gun clap, fall back, white tees, burgundy |
| These niggaz never heard of me |
| Still, they try and murder me |
| Teflon with the chest plate, try hurtin' me |
| Yo, you’re poop with the groupers, my live niggaz shoot with the shooters |
| You the type that’ll lose with the losers |
| A gift to producers, cuz music beats is like cars to the streets |
| It’s so natural, I flow at you |
| My little niggaz, man, they nuts like cashews |
| Cash Rules, we get up in these niggaz like tattoos |
| Aiyo, don’t ask if I’m down with the Wu |
| Just cuz I’m from Staten Island, yeah I fuck with Deck, but I rep the 4 and the |
| Catchin' me Hillside Scramblin', bitches like «Ooh!» |
| When I hop out the brand new, 645, tan and blue |
| The middle of winter, look I’ve got a tan too |
| She popped me with royalty cheques, look at my advance too |
| The year of the Warriors, every year the shit is gettin' cornier |
| Throw chicks in front of my shorty, make her hornier |
| This is a warning to ya, fake-ass rappers actin' like they want wit ya |
| 'Til I blast, should’ve ignored the liquor |
| You saw the picture, front page, all of my niggaz |
| Like magazine covers, that’s why the streets love us |
| Some rest in peace above us, some in the beast and wonder |
| When they hit the streets who freakin' they baby mother |
| If we don’t got shit, still know we got each other |
| Haters try and block me like pucks but this ain’t hockey, fucker! |
| Welcome to New York, yao, welcome to New York |
| No disrespect to truth, but homey I am the truth, yup |
| They call me Lot-a, baby, that black .380 crazy |
| I’m smokin' like Frasier, you see all these damn haters bitch? |
| Cuz my watch cost a flick, and my chain cost a brick |
| And my bitch like Halle and Puffy mixed |
| You don’t really wanna go there, homeboy, ya too soft |
| Just like beef, I get it gone just like goof off |
| I’m in that two-door, draggin' along like two balls |
| «Murder Was the Case» of the song playin' by Snoop Dogg |
| Lot-a-Nerv, lot-a-money, lot-a-guns |
| Lot-a's ass? |
| Never that, y’all niggaz is fags |
| Yup, yup, Lot-a's gettin' cash, jealous niggaz envy, yeah |
| Niggaz wan' pop off, but we all know you fuck with shafts |
| Lon Dini sip Heini’s, hood labelled me grimy |
| Goons wanna send out some goons to outline me |
| That’s why when I step out the buildin' I watch behind me |
| God guide me, I mean that, greatest to ever rap |
| Live by my words, seen many people die on the curb |
| When I heard, mice, we left, man, I felt the ill surge |
| I guess, that’s why I go in the booth and spill it loose |
| Never pooly, on spot writer, I scribe fire |
| Fly attire I rock, heavy pistols I pop |
| Say a prayer for the peasents when the boss gettin' dropped |
| No more givin' dap to fake cats, lyrically aren’t the match |
| My Milli movement like powerful music, like only we do this |
| Step inside the square, half-cocked and smack stupid |
| Hear my voice, you can loop it, you’ll be makin' a hit |
| Send 'em digits through to Two 4 War, now we legit |
| Dini, LIS, Fes and Baby Pa, we killin' this shit |