Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song What's Wrong With You?, artist - Gravediggaz. Date of issue: 31.12.2010
Song language: English
What's Wrong With You? |
| Check it… yo. |
| Instead of beat a brother’s head off for half the rent |
| Half percent, brothers need to all get bent |
| Whips and gold to hold to a master flow |
| Rollin' with the G.O., these deeds for Castro |
| Competition far from close, rip and roast |
| Flip ducks on the skillet, feel it? |
| 1−0-5th, the hood, only if the weed was good |
| Roll it up, make it last like I’m puffin' the past |
| Gaze beyond, where I’m from, brothers don’t bargain |
| Gods on the grid like Murtogh’s and Riggs |
| If you don’t give a fuck, then you know what’s up |
| Cock D.O.D's, with or without the nuts |
| Steady riot, heavy flow, East crush a ghetto delux |
| Muthafucker, what? |
| Bum rush ya |
| Codeine ice breath, flexin' my biceps |
| Fuck with me, put your ass forever to sleep |
| Yo. |
| What da fuck is wrong with you? |
| What da fuck you gonna do? |
| What da fuck is wrong with you? |
| I’ll bust your ass and cap your crew |
| Ssssss. |
| Yo, blind fury, whatever the force, I’ll shake it off |
| Evidence I weight, ghetto cap backs and broth |
| Grew up, a teaspoon, overdose off jams |
| Hot watch, plenty of beats, shots of miligrams |
| Stone roller, head up, a shot release |
| Stay gritty, Black Lordz runnin' the whole city |
| B-Ball and rampage when I rip the stage |
| Part the Red Sea with a pump and a gauge |
| Niggas wanna tailgate, then chase the bait |
| Black spider, drop brothers like a low rider |
| Lashin' my whip, watch brothers abandon ship |
| What the fuck’s so new, about the shit I do? |
| Chargin' cats to breeze, palm M.C.'s |
| Catch you with mines, niggas doin' serious time |
| Pick up from where I left and cross the globe |
| Represent E.N.Y., until I die… what?! |
| Yo, I spit the live shit, divide the jewels |
| Rave reviews, the nuts on my prosecute |
| Midwest be the place where I rest |
| No time for the stress, yeah I get sit on with the best |
| Talk shit, nigga, I hit’s the chest |
| Yeah, I smoke Philly blunts, nigga, with the best, what? |
| Hard hittin', cigar splittin', now I’m driftin' |
| Hustle just for days, new ways to get paid |
| Them niggas on the block, serve weight |
| Turnin' bricks, nigga, into cash in a day |
| Check it -- one man suicide, another man’s grief |
| If you bow down, nigga, you will self defeat |
| Talk is cheap, nigga, show the actions that you speak |
| I know the game plan to a T, street choke |
| Niggas can’t survive on these streets |
| You can feel the words that I say through this beat |
| This hip hop music be the code for the streets |
| My Chi-Town niggas represent for the streets, what? |