Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Try Me feat. Goapele , by - J Boogie's Dubtronic Science. Release date: 19.06.2008
Song language: English
Try Me feat. Goapele |
| Let a nigga try me, try me |
| I’ma get him gone like Illuminati |
| Cause we ain’t playing up in Chicago |
| 30 make him yell like he a soprano |
| Let a nigga try me, try me |
| I’ma shoot his face like a picture ID |
| Let them know that we ain’t playing up in Chicago |
| Lay them boys down like a lot of dominoes |
| Pop a nigga frame like he was a garter |
| Run up in his crib like Mr. Rogers |
| Flip his ass quick put him in gymnastics |
| Bitch we go to war like we being drafted |
| Tell Lil Durk let’s have a party with my lil shawtys |
| We ain’t getting drunk, but they bringing 40s |
| I could murder with my fashion you niggas lacking |
| About to drop a body feel like I’m contracting |
| Better be rushing to the bank walking like a model |
| Your man give me neck till I feel his tonsils |
| My lil homie got the tech loaded for you bastards |
| Bet he touch a nigga like say a pastor |
| They say I be slaying on my Kim K, where my corset? |
| Youngest bitch fucking up these streets like my name was North West |
| My bitches don’t want to talk like a case of strep throat |
| We rather just get up on it, word to fucking Dej Loaf |
| Bullets clear you out your brain now you need a mentor |
| Blow a nigga down like he in a windstorm |
| All I do is say the word they be running over |
| Kill a nigga in a week call it that ebola |
| And Ohhh |
| Way to many niggas focused on |
| Where I be at |
| Who I be with |
| And what I do |
| Take your baby out like it was his born day |
| Leave a pussy wet like we having foreplay |
| I’m really having shit that’s why bitches mad though |
| Have you ever seen amounts longer than your zip code? |
| I ain’t never had a problem with spending Benjies |
| Lean upon myself, rest in peace to Pimp C |
| Got a pocket full of notes |
| Pay my shooter like D. Rose |
| I could blow a couple G’s |
| Racked up no double D’s |
| May give him a taste |
| Nigga like Muhammad, he say it’s the bomb |
| But I’m not Islamic |
| You know I’m from the Chi, where they bang corners |
| Heads upon the ground like we tossing quarters |
| Talking all the tough shit, that rough shit |
| You gone stumble up and get fucked with |
| Can’t roll with these weak hoes |
| These niggas sweeter than duck lips |
| Pulled up in that tinted truck |
| They gone smoke some like ganja |
| Doing all that dickriding, you still driving that Hummer? |
| I’m offended, stop pretending |
| I don’t play about my blood like a diabetic |
| Fuck niggas, something I do not condone |
| Swear to God |
| The only thing I’m with and own |