Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gang Bang 4 Real, artist - Fredwreck. Date of issue: 23.12.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Gang Bang 4 Real |
| Fred Wreck in this motherfucker |
| Yeah Tha Eastsidaz |
| Back once again to drop that Crip Hop shit |
| We gets payed to steal, gang bang for real |
| Slang thangs at will, known to blaze the steel |
| Niggas ain’t for real, cats who claim to peel |
| Say you game to kill, but I don’t think you will |
| Little Goldie Loc, these niggas hoes to me |
| Lemme tell these motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be |
| See crime merrily and better see ya rep to death |
| Squeeze ya enemies until they can’t catch they breath |
| Don’t sleep, tote heat, seven days a week |
| Whether to work or to church, snow, rain, or sleet |
| And don’t bang with weak — motherfuckers who ain’t wit it |
| Ain’t no snitchin, take the deal and get convicted, stay commited |
| This mission is a vision to control the globe |
| Leavin scents where we step back and hold our own |
| Hold that zone, it won’t be long, we keep it pushin |
| Livin on the edge and ain’t lookin for no cushion |
| It’s all in the hardcore game of death |
| Cuz you can’t change ya steps, once you have claimed the set |
| Ain’t no tattoo removal, fool, bang ya block |
| Or you could shake the spot, cuz now your face is hot |
| All that goin outta town, tryin to set up shop |
| And you ain’t win up nothin buster, better check yo' props |
| Keep the sag hangin, rag swangin, gangsta walk |
| Leave opponents hood smokin, with the tape the chalk |
| Young homies to the G’s stay swollen with cheese |
| Insane to the brain, rollin twenty’s on D’s |
| Throwin C’s up, ease up, or get rubbed out |
| Cuz my whole squad hot and we stay thugged out |
| Tray Deee, O.G., these niggas holdin me |
| Lemme show these motherfuckers how it’s sposed to be |
| Mama, they got me in the shell again |
| But this time I think I’m headed for the state pen |
| I got too many problems, and I sure don’t need 'em |
| As I fall to my knees and I begs for my freedom |
| Listen for my name, so I can get chain |
| I’m headed for court but this time I feel strange |
| With my eyes on the gate, with handcuffs on my wrist |
| I’m tryna find a way out, to hoppin the fence |
| 5 o’clock, they might shock, to leave these shackles on my feet |
| I feel the heat it’s gettin deep, both eyes open when I’m asleep |
| The big situation got me stuck in a drought |
| I’ve been squabblin everyday so my time didn’t count |
| The major deal is that my brother told me, «Take no shit» |
| Cuz I might end up gettin out and comin home real quick |
| The plan for the lick was to do it overseas |
| Come back to the L.B., spendin 24 G’s |
| Now you know me — straight up to no good |
| Little nappy head nigga always bellin through the hood |
| I kept my strap on my lap, and steadied the clip on the seat |
| All eyes on me, when your fuckin with a G |
| I was dedicated to seein the gangsta cuz |
| I keep my head on straight, with my brain on buzz |
| Ay B-A-D (whattup) These niggas hoes to me |
| Lemme show you motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be |
| Keep a, bag of money with the grocery |
| And when I’m on the move I groove with the fo’fifth heat |
| Check it out Eastsida, these niggas hoes to me |
| Now lemme show you motherfuckers how it’s 'sposed to be |
| I’m just a Eastside, low-life nigga to death |
| We gone ride in any car, show with niggas the best |
| Peep the nigga that test, you shoulda put on ya vest |
| You shoulda, covered ya wig, 'fore I hitcha with this |
| It ain’t no motherfuckin give back, when knees is crackin |
| If it ain’t a gun war, we finna use 'em for jackin |
| And it’s money 'round here, it’s just hard to see it |
| And when you spot it, don’t be so fuckin sure that you got it |
| You make it happen or not — you still grindin on the spot |
| You gotta give it what you got, still livin how it pop |
| It’s a do-it-all-day type of thang, make it crack-a-lak |
| Fuck a jail cell, I’m on the beach in a Cadillac |
| Fleetwood, seven deuce nigga with the rag back |
| Bangin ol' deez like a cold O. G |
| Used to smoke wet 'til my day looked black |
| Used to pack techs 'til my pay looked fat |
| I have bitches transport them llello packs |
| Still the sam ol' nigga, I just slang dope raps |
| Hate, I feel like «so what», smash and get my dough up |
| You know what, point some heat at’cha when ya show up |
| So niggas don’t be runnin up up on the B-A-D |
| Cuz he be packin heat, and this is D-P-G-C |
| Uh-huh, it’s off the hizzy |
| For real, beat by Fred Wrizzy |
| Makin them niggas get dizzy |
| For real |
| Gangsta shit, lemme get some girl |
| Yea this shit to gangsta for the motherfuckin streets |
| Eastsida, be-atch! |