Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bloww , by - Hittman. Song from the album Hittmanic Verses, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 30.11.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: L.A. HILL
Song language: English
Bloww |
| What the fuck |
| This shit banging |
| Hey my nigga Mel-Man told me |
| If you throw a rock at a pack of bitch-ass niggas |
| The only one who’s gon' scream out is the one who got hit |
| So you know what, fuck all you niggas |
| You, you and you |
| You know |
| Well it’s the D-R, D-R-E Hitt Mizzy |
| Keep it hot as hell up in LA city |
| Fuck a gang, only (set?) I fear |
| Rolling fifties, cause they can get me |
| For this heat I’m holding with me |
| My golden four fever`s a hole in your head leave a |
| Put that ass to sleep ain’t talking bout the bed either |
| The home of the red and blue, you need to come clean like Lever — |
| 2000, chronic album, still smoking |
| For real locin' |
| Much ain’t gotta be said to get your shit broken |
| Heart or jaw, I’m hard I’m raw |
| Nothing to prove to y’all |
| Just dippin` down Compton Boulevard |
| If you didn’t help me go platinum or suck my dick, you’re useless |
| 8 ball to the gall for y’all who thought that Gatorade was baller juices |
| Saw the Aftermath recruits, rivals labels wanna call truces |
| Try to stall us, send their harlots to seduce us |
| We composed of brawlers, ballers, emcees, producers |
| No losers allowed, don’t be confusing the style |
| Chronic 2000, here and now |
| Blaaow! |
| We Rush |
| Nothing left in the aftermath but dust |
| And niggas like us |
| Stay plush |
| Strapped with automatics that bust |
| On the West Coast where snitches and haters |
| Get crushed |
| Man Dre |
| (What's up my nigga?) |
| There’s too much shit in the game |
| They put an S in front of Hitt, trying to shit on my name |
| Now whoever mouth it came out of, no love |
| In your direction a barrage of slugs at your mug |
| So get bulletproof, won’t serve you as far as protection goes |
| It’s like bare-backin` HIV-positive hoes |
| Hm, you know you’re gonna die |
| And I assume you wanna do so the way you came at H-I |
| Doube-T man, see man this form of trouble could place you in R.I.P.-land |
| Amongst the freelance, harp players |
| The martyrs and the everyday prayer-sayers |
| Try to run shoot at your Jordans, make`em lose air, air |
| Your game is over player |
| I’m came to make sure your jersey’s retired |
| I’mma throw your going-away party |
| With a church and a choir |
| A hearse and a driver |
| I’m the gun that Dre hired nigga |
| Blaaow! |
| (Nigga blaaow!) |