Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Knuckle Up, artist - IcewaterDate of issue: 27.08.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Knuckle Up |
| We slang kilos, eighths to them shorties, bring G loads |
| A paper to the hood, we got you, cop three of those |
| And get your hustle right, whether you a trapper |
| or a gun clapper, make sure your weapon is hype |
| We got all kinds of shooters, sprayers, pitchers |
| Nigga who hit playa, catch you in ya gators |
| Haters that love rockin nigga for bread, lead fly |
| Hit in you back of your head, he gettin dough, all that’s dead now |
| Yo, no more hallucinatin, we just used to hatin |
| Go 'head and violate, we murder clicks, who you takin? |
| Not none of us! |
| You know my gun’ll bust |
| And every town state, niggaz pull they guns for us And peel somethin up, and kill somethin up We «Go Hard"like Tennessee boys, hit 'em up We get it every day and, it’s like a matinee and |
| We on the block hard, Allah said «Rae, you made it» |
| It’s time to take it over, it ain’t a safe promoter |
| Out there, give me my change or get thrown in the Rover |
| It’s Donnie, I get lots of bread, though as far as that block |
| I got it locked, like a rasta’s dreads |
| And I will infra-beem dot ya head, put a couple of shots |
| Inside your top, tryna stop my spread |
| Fuck cops, I just watch for feds |
| Cause I know they be hatin on how I’m cakin |
| want me boxed or dead |
| I move with birds by the flock, instead — D. C I keep whoopin, keep cookin, 'til the pots is red |
| Keep pushin, I don’t stop at reds, fuck a red light |
| It’s red light specials, when I pop that lead |
| I can even make a boxer beg, catch ya pops in bed |
| Pop his legs, while you watch him beg |
| The name’s Donnie, I was mobster bred, so you know I’m a don |
| Plus I was born with that shottas edge |
| I keep that chopper filled with copperheads, I bust a couple of shots |
| It’ll leave a couple coppers dead |
| And you can run a couple blocks ahead, and wont get away |
| Unless you wore some shit today that blocks ya head |
| Huh, step up yo’game, you off the square (square) |
| You cain’t be a pimp just 'cause you got long hair (hair) |
| 'Lacs don’t make macks, AK’s don’t make killas |
| Scary niggaz shoot first, if you a G, it’s a curse (curse) |
| +Last of a Dying Breed+ like Brad JORDAN |
| Pimp C, bitch! |
| Words nuts and my foreign |
| If I say it in the streets, I’ll say it to ya face |
| Knock ya whole muthafuckin off, take my case |
| Never give 'em my connects, never hit P. C |
| I’m a young fuckin HOG! |
| Bitch, +The Game Belong to Me+ |
| Dick ain’t free, fuck a promo show |
| You ain’t got fifty thousand cash, bitch, fuck the radio! |
| (beyatch!) |
| Fuck BET and fuck, Diana Ross |
| Shut the fuck up, old bitch! |
| Slim THUG is the BOSS (BOSS) |
| J. Prince the Godfather, DJ Screw is the King |
| Ride my dick, a Cadillac, got’cho advance in my pinky rang, BEEEEE-YATCH!!! |
| (In my pinky rang, BEEEEE-YATCH!!!) |
| BEEEEE-YATCH…Sweet Jones, BEE-YATCH! |
| Hol’up, motherfucker! |
| Motherfucker, smoke sum’hin, BEE-YATCH! |
| Trademark, knahmtalkinbout? |