Lyrics You Don't Know - HÄWK, Bored Machines

You Don't Know

Labb Records, Ghetto Dreams Entertainment
These niggas don’t know, Big H.A.W.K.
and Jimmy D
(y'all don’t know, y’all don’t know
Y’all don’t know, y’all don’t know)
See y’all don’t know, how we get do'
Sell out and resco', then go get mo'
We got drank we got dro, we got pills we got snow
And to top it all off, we got hellified flow
See y’all don’t know, bout the Texas c.d.'s
Or about the DVD’s, man we all about cheese
Big body V’s, we got tricks up our sleeve
While y’all catching Z’s, man we counting up G’s
See the real can relate, cause they got they paper straight
Only broke niggas hate, cause they can’t participate
Hustlers move weight, at an astonishing rate
In the 7−1-3, man we all about cake
Y’all don’t know, bout this independent game
Eight bucks a pop, and we get it all mayn
Y’all don’t know, bout the money y’all missing
And the money y’all missing, H.A.W.K.
damn sho getting
See y’all don’t know, (y'all don’t know)
Whether rain sleet or snow, we get do'
And whatever we got, gon go
We on the grind seven days 24, y’all don’t know
Nigga, y’all don’t know (y'all don’t know)
I’m in the kitchen with the work in a figga fo', trying to make my figgas grow
Watching out for espionage, and snake niggas though
Cause y’all motherfuckers is pigs, and real niggas close
In H-Town we do it big, see a nigga froze
Tipping on 84's, gripping on a calicoe
With some bubblicious smoke, in our optiomo
And everytime the nextel chirp, a nigga gotta roll
I don’t care, if it’s four a.m. I’m out the do'
Gotta get that scrilla, cause I’m bout the do'
Even if, the fucking police hot
I’ma roll like I’m legal, cause you know we spot
Switched up to moving c.d.'s, you know we hot
Soundwaves top 20, everytime we drop
You motherfuckers, take notes from a hustler
Jimmy D, trying to turn the world to my customer
Y’all don’t know, bout the Cadillac grills
And the hundred dollar bills, we spend on the wheels
Y’all don’t know, bout the trunk and the bang
Bout the weed and the caine, or the price on them thangs
Y’all don’t know, bout the Lone Star State
Or sipping on a eight, while you jam a Screw tape
Y’all don’t know, bout the S.U.C
L-A double B, H.A.W.K.
and Jimmy D
Y’all don’t know, about them Southside G’s
And 88's with 83's, behind tint puffing trees
Y’all don’t know, about them Northside killers
When you see the bull horns, put your finger on the trigga
Look y’all don’t know, it’s over Brook Northdale
Dino Duke or Look and Dre, yeah them all playas
Y’all don’t know, bout Big H.A.W.K.
and Jimbo
We d-do damage, to your fucking instrumentals
Y’all don’t know — 8x