Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Class By Myself, artist - Havoc. Album song The Kush, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 17.09.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Nature Sounds
Song language: English
Class By Myself |
| It’s all, ready in motion, you cowards getting laid down |
| Soundscan looking weak, at a high escape now |
| Play around, lay around, niggas getting left out |
| Dudes trying to steal the kid swag like a klepto |
| Won’t be satisfied until I let the tech blow |
| Ride through your hood, with no problemo |
| Creeping on you niggas, don’t get caught sueno |
| Yeah, you know it’s nothing for me to clap the metal |
| Mobb etched in stone, we heavy in the ghetto |
| I’ve been trying to tell 'em, way before the label shelved them |
| Get your weight up first, and then talk to me |
| You not caked up, your whole team booty |
| Ya’ll done say shit, I react with the toolie |
| I know your history, you can’t fool me |
| Table for them groupie niggas can’t fool me |
| I’mma keep on banging, til they set me free |
| I’mma ride til I die, head to the sky, til he set me free |
| Still riding on til the Lord give me greens |
| I’mma ride, homey, til the Lord give me greens |
| I’mma ride, homey, til the Lord give me greens |
| I’mma ride, homey, til the Lord give me greens |
| Two guns up, label me a fucking king |
| Amen, ain’t nothing popping off over there, but your mouth |
| P the newest shit cracking like them niggas down south |
| H keep making these beats for me to kill |
| Our studios like a morgue, cuz songs get bodied |
| I shoot up your bass, stab up your drums |
| P keep writing that shit that you could feel |
| And reach out and touch, cuz this shit real |
| I pity the fool that ain’t hit the Mobb Deep |
| You niggas is food, we vultures, we gon' eat |
| We show you how to move in a room full of lions |
| Infamous, can’t nobody stop our glory |
| Whoever said they could, they was telling stories |
| This is not a fable, these our the facts |
| Prodigy and Havoc leave you bleeding on your back |
| When Prodigy and Havoc come to catch a little wreck |
| I break ya little neck and take ya little shine |
| You dumber then a mule, you fucking with some dons |
| Hav is a don from way beyond |
| P is a don P, like the Don Perigion |
| Catch a nigga slipping, pop bottles when they gone |
| I see me in a casket, niggas touching my corpse |
| Going down in history, as the king of New York |
| And BK the Unit, we the new Supreme Team |
| Dream team machines with a beam blow ya spleen |
| Out ya Maskeen jeans, you green fiend |
| Uh, nothing but cash, is what I’m hearing |
| Getting money now, so I dump the cannon out the Phantom |
| Fuck the fan, I keep the strap both sides of my hip |
| When I’m squeezing, the only time I ghost ride the whip |
| Dump dump reload, the wrong fire strength |
| Uh, eyes bloodshot, ride let the sub plot |
| Die from a blood clot, try to make this thug stop |
| My enemies scared and they panicking |
| Remember me? |
| Leave this nigga stiff like a mannequin, homey |
| It’s over, nigga back on the stretcher |
| AK’s and max with the all black oppressor |
| When a nigga die, bury me with a beretta |
| So when I get to hell, man, I got a vendetta |
| And that’s how it’s going down, it’s thug life forever |