Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Where You At, artist - J-Love. Album song Legends Vol 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 27.04.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: J Love Enterprise, Money Maker Entertainment
Song language: English
Where You At |
Yeah, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at |
I know a lotta niggas that’ll tear your back |
It ain’t where you from, kid, it’s where you at |
Listen, if you goin out of town and don’t bear them gats |
It ain’t where you from, kid, it’s where you at |
If you caught up in a beef and you scared to clap |
Dogs, it ain’t where you from, it’s where you at |
Shit, thug listen (What up baby?) |
Ain’t nothin 'round here but drug addiction |
Niggas is anti-love-livin |
The slug-givin little shortie on the snub itchin |
For beef, he might get left in the street with his blood drippin |
The poor niggas sling crack, real raw niggas that bang gats |
Crazy lady jumped on the train tracks |
Know if you owe somebody dough you better bring that |
Them kids is live, put five where your brain at |
You walk the streets of the slums |
Know to spot beef when it come |
Reach for the guns or feel the heat from the ones |
Never know who your killer be (Yeah, speak to no one) |
Just put a Desert Eagle beak in his lung |
Leak em and run, some guys light the blunts up |
(And then what?) And then go ride with the pumps up |
Chopped up bitch inside of a dumpster |
Paramedics tryin to speed a nigga pulse up |
(Yo, he’s a cold blue) victim of the vultures |
Block sizzlin hot, flooded in the middle with cops |
Innocent nigga topped, riddled with shots |
Kids up in rock spots clock knots, fiddle with Glocks |
Ready to die for what little they got |
Tricks, hoes and thugs (That's right) |
The ones that put holes in mugs |
Waitin outside for them ones that pose in clubs |
To that strange nigga knockin on your do' with gloves |
Let the .44 blow for grub, it’s no love |
You got uniformed cops, the D’s when it’s hot |
TNT knockin down the door of your spot |
The feds come get you once you think you on top |
They just been buildin they case, they got you on tape |
The CIA clip you if the shit is that deep |
Your money’s that long, you ain’t that strong |
Informants’ll bury you under the jail |
They got wires and statements for juries to hear |
Then they got rivals that got it clickin just like you |
That’s your competition, them niggas tryin to eat too |
They’ll set you up for dead if you don’t show strength |
Extort all your workers cause you ain’t built for this |
Plus stick-up kids and jealous-ass niggas |
You gotta watch your front, sides and your back (Damn) |
You gotta keep your eyes on your bitch and your mens |
You gotta keep your mind sharp livin so fed |