Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song I Can Make You Dance (Screwed) , by - H.A.W.K.Release date: 08.03.2005
Song language: English
I Can Make You Dance (Screwed) |
| Million dollar block |
| Spot is hot, but we gon mash to the top |
| These FED’s gon watch |
| The cash don’t spot, million dollar block |
| On my block my spot, is hotter than Arizona |
| Infested with marijuana, hustlers on every corner |
| I sit in the sauna, like the boat in the beach |
| Four hundred snails cut cudicals, as I sip pharmicutical |
| Got me twelve funds, along with stocks and bonds |
| And for the cash baby, even got a green thumb |
| Fee-fi-fo-fum, like Jack and the bean stock |
| I’m passing four raw, with sixty open some vaults |
| I paid the cost, a certified Mafia boss |
| And over a quarter a million dollas, is my annual gross |
| Popping bottles of Andre, Castle and Ligante |
| On page like picante, feed me on me entree |
| It’s my way like Usher, got connections in Russia |
| Try to stop my shine, my troops’ll bum rush ya |
| F-E-D's on the watch, all eyes on me |
| Ain’t nothing they can do, but legalize currency |
| I’m in a drop top Benz, yelling motherfuck friends |
| Cause now I’m strictly pussy, family and dividends |
| Finally made it off the block, streets swallowed us G’s |
| God’s hopped out of me, had to swallow my cheese |
| But the next day I was grinding, got the balling disease |
| I had a dream I was a Don, U-Hauling these ki’s |
| Yelling Southwest, Braeswood |
| And y’all know, 8900 pay good |
| I went from a block bleeder, to a Interstate skater |
| A fifty pack scorer, to a heavy weighter a cookie baker |
| And nigga, I ain’t ask I took my paper |
| Cause fool I ain’t a rookie in these streets, I pull capers |
| Cause now we ball till we fall, drink Cristal |
| Ghetto superstars, stay knocking off the mall |
| Hundred thousand dollar cars, on twenty inches |
| We million dollar boys, man you niggas penny pitchers |
| (*talking*) |
| Million dollar block, there’s one in every city |
| State and ghetto near you, all you have to do |
| Is take care of your business, you know they watching you |
| Stay on top of your game, and stay away from these |
| Hating ass niggas, keep it real and your do will grow, you feel me |
| Marvin Gators and blocks, eat gators and steaks on papers |
| As I climb the elevator, housing and the ten acres |
| Yeah the paper it grew, caused mo' up’s than blue |
| 36 to 52, now I’m Gucci to the shoe |
| And who new, I prescribe more narcotics than mayors |
| Wanted dead or alive, got one 4−5 on my head |
| And these FED’s, got my block hotter than fire |
| But off the flo', just knocked me a Benz two-tou' |
| They gon stop and say why, 23 tire fleece |
| And I don’t lease nothing baby, think half of what you see |
| Fuck a ki', I’m cutting my time by the pound |
| Stepping out in Devinci, with my broad in 'Sacci gowns |
| Watch out now, we sipping champagne in campaigns |
| Chit-chatting bout new names, and new schemes for cocaine |
| Mo' pain, I’m staining the scene chasing the green |
| Through my million dollar block, dreams done turned reality |
| (*gates closing*) |