
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Blue Armor |
Greasy, razor blades, shots spray, military |
Armor, keep blaze packed, all day, dog’s day |
Groundhog Day, ya’ll bitch niggas got sweet hands, word |
I know why, why? |
Ya’ll all gay, pop off head |
Get your top rocked, way across state |
The pamphlet read, from seven to nine, don’t hold that weight |
Ya’ll just bait, I’m a fisherman, I own this lake |
When I catch fish, I fry 'em, to they back I flake |
I smash ya’ll muthafuckas like a seedless grape |
And hang niggas like some ceiling fans in K-Mart plates |
Feel me? |
Shake double earthquakes, give thanks, give shanks |
Word to my momma, I cut the grass on you fucking snakes |
Expose, don’t tell, use a mo', round the way |
Go-Go down, gone with the wind, he’s a he-she |
Bitch ass nigga for sale, like Magilla |
Standing in the window, with a sign, «Yes, I fuck men, though» |
Aiyo, Sheek (What up, dog?) |
Stab one of them niggas, nigga, word up! |
Aiyo, my niggas is wetted, they drunk and they trying to eat |
The hammers on 'em, and they ain’t out looking for meat |
I’m jumping out cars, I’m giving you permanent stars |
Your hardest nigga, you can’t compare him to ours |
I’m sitting on crates, I’m missing probation dates |
I’m stuck with this weight, my wifey period late |
I’m hot as fuck, my truck keep getting tailed |
It’s like every week, one of mines getting jailed |
Forgetting bail, piss test failed |
Got parole on us, then wanna roll on us |
I’m at my momma crib sleep, who told on us? |
I’m sick to death, I’m on fire in the streets |
Like in Back to the Future, when the car left |
Ghost’ll clap for me, fuck, rap for me Yo, tell them niggas on the Island, get strapped for me Het wet ya, and throw the stocking |
On his face, like when he first met cha |
Yo, me and Sheek drug heads like a bottle of Goose |
I had my road dogs follow your troops |
Gorilla game, African tribe, Somalian crew |
With a flow so sick, my high temperature’ll body the flu |
Crack heads get knocked out, right in front of the school |
Slap 'em Sheek, wake his ass up, he can’t even move |
Cereal box is crack and ratchets, in the cocaine spot |
My fiends’ll box filled with coke head classics |
Dope money, flood me rags of kush, heavy drags |
Bodegas, I’m mad, my older sister Patty’s a butch |
Guns come out like my mother’s teeth, watch how I’m throwing heat |
The leg gravy be steaming over smothered beef |
From eight-ball jackets to cops and robbers |
My last drug run, I threw in two bricks to garbage |
I wash my money in Woodlife, dunyy, sippin’on Folgers |
Black jewels trucking, still come through bummy |