| I grew up wishing my life would be like the Cosbys
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| I go that extra mile to escape this ghetto monotony
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| See how this vicious cycle could fuck wit you psychologically
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| You best cooperate with the state or become they property
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| Bitch my name be ringing bells from the street to the jailhouse
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| And it ain’t no transaction unless I came wit my scale out
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| Roll in yo college, I just might fuck up and fail out
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| Fucking bitch after bitch, stacking my chips, all I care bout
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| Fuck a GPA, bitch I need a CPA, come and count it up
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| Thousand thugs be always tryna catch him in a crowd around the bus
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| Guess it’s bout to go down, if you down to fuck, then you down wit us
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| I know hoes that won’t smoke, but stay sloppy drunk and get powdered up
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| This Corporate Thug World, they like you but they love the realest
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| Straight Gary gangsta shit, didn’t come up off no fucking gimmicks, bitch
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| 2Pac ain’t back cuz he got set up and shot in the chest
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| Biggie ain’t either, so won’t y’all gon let them niggas rest?
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| I’m 187 proof, streets or the fucking booth
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| I’m hard to kill like Steven Seagal wit yo fucking troops
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| Yo choppas ain’t chopping shit if yo niggas ain’t down to shoot
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| And I’m ready to R.I.P. |
| any nigga that y’all recruit
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| Cuz I’m 187 proof, streets or the fucking booth
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| I speak a foreign language, I think y’all call that the truth
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| It’s Gibbs, bitch
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| A walking 187, 187 crazy
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| Sick like Moammar Gadhafi, straight 187 babies
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| I reach for that reefer stench and my shit knocking Brotha Lynch
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| So lock me in correctional, but you can’t fix me or fucking see me
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| You know who you fucking with? |
| A nigga who got shit to lose
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| I got niggas that rob you and rape yo bitch if they in the mood
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| Check my record, I been a fool, semi autos all in my locker
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| Flow stupid like I rode the bus to school with Waka Flocka
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| 187 ways to die, bitch, this the end
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| 6 niggas put 600 holes in yo 600 Benz
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| Bitch, I’m murder proof, I’mma live forever
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| Duncan block, Virginia street, bitch, we the clique together
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| Ask Pill who the real, bet he mention (Gibbs)
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| Killers in that 4th Ward, shout out to my nigga Slick
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| Shout out to my nigga Hit, West side murder cat
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| Some of my niggas flow, but most of them beat that murder rep
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| Cuz I’m 187 proof, streets or the fucking booth
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| I speak a foreign language, I think y’all call that the truth
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| Cuz I’m 187 proof, streets or the fucking booth
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| I speak a foreign language, I think y’all call that the truth
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| It’s Gibbs, bitch |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song 187 Proof, artist - Freddie Gibbs. Album song Cold Day In Hell, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп