| It’s how it goes down
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| Hoodsta style
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| The Remix
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| West Coast killin like that! |
| (One Shot Kill)
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| Y’all know what’s crackin
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| The whole Roc-A-Fella shut down!
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| Enemy’s goals come at me foul
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| I bust 'em in they bowels
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| For this rag 4 mag, bitch get shit bag
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| Watch me hit this fag with sack with this
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| Till I die «Crip or Cry» Mista Nice Guy’s dead
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| Is in hood to the heart and his .47 to the head
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| Think you can scrap? |
| I got scrap
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| But see it’s only one thing, I got this strap
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| And they ain’t goin for none of that
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| Comprehend like «You don’t just wanna end your career here»
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| When the bullet hits your collarbone you know it’s like «Fuck a career»
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| I drink a ?? |
| to ya soul, muthafucka rich roll
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| Hit you and ya man, you slippin, fuck up his stroll
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| Cuz, and that’s just how these hoodstas roll
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| Talkin 'bout «Is he a blood or is he crip?»
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| Nigga I sock that faggot in his big ass lip
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| Put a straight jacket on me, cuz I’m throwin a tantrum
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| And all the crips across the world y’all gone sing this anthem
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| We stay trued up! |
| Blued up!
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| True fat laces, true blue chucks
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| We Crippin till we die cuz, and’ll shoot you up
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| Cock the .38 from the G homie used to shoot up
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| We stay flamed up! |
| Banged up!
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| Bright red laces, flamed up chucks
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| It’s Piru till we die blood, and’ll shoot you up
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| Cock the .38 from the G homie used to shoot up
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| Dulo, get names spit flames
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| Thought cus Pac laid off ya shit change?
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| Shit ranged, hell naw they bit game
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| Every time ya hit, bitch slang
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| Bit names, bustin other niggas shit can
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| You crossed the line blood, now the streets comin to get ya
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| It’s over +H.O.V.A.+ prepare for your last thrill nigga
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| Was never a real nigga and know you ain’t tryin to be
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| Dulo the throne of dynasty
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| Thinking your reigning? |
| It’s time to see
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| We’ll find you at Marcy unless you wit a film crew
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| With that scary ass Memphis Bleek nigga him too
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| I ain’t impressed that you done wrote your fuckin flunky some raps
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| But if Beanie is really a baboon then you funky for that
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| But it ain’t no dynasty dummy, just ya flunky and a monkey
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| And a broad that look like a fuckin recoverin heron junky
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| Put a straight jacket on me dog, I’m throwin a tantrum
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| And all my Bloods across the world y’all gon sing this anthem
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| We stay flamed up! |
| Banged up!
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| Bright red laces, flamed up chucks
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| It’s Piru till we die blood, and’ll shoot you up
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| Cock the .38 from the G homie used to shoot up
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| We stay trued up! |
| Blued up!
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| True fat laces, true blue chucks
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| We Crippin till we die cuz, and’ll shoot you up
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| Cock the .38 from the G homie used to shoot up
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| Back in the day if I was 'caine cuz I would have been trippin
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| Like «Ain't no half crippin»
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| When it comes to this C shit, they gon' learn out here
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| I’ll have Al Sharp, C-walkin with his perm out here
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| Niggas bangin the NY now, cuz I don’t knock it
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| This fool said he was a blood but had his rag in the wrong pocket
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| Crips where it on the left and Pirus where it on the right
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| I’ma show you muthafuckas how to gangbang right
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| Ride back in the same night, how to slang 'caine right
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| How to keep them guns hot, and aim them thangs right
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| While ya DJ gettin sloped at the break beach spot
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| I’m smoking purple till my lungs light great street watts
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| C-walk on yo roof, it’s over before you hit the vocal booth
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| Watch out, I threw up the hood and broke ya tooth
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| Put a straight jacket on me, cuz I’m throwin a tantrum
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| And all the crips around the world y’all gone sing this anthem
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| We stay trued up! |
| Blued up!
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| True fat laces, true blue chucks
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| We Crippin till we die cuz, and’ll shoot you up
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| Cock the .38 from the G homie used to shoot up
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| Bitch!
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| And you just lost! |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Trued Up Remix (Real Anthem) , by - Jayo Felony. Song from the album Crip Hop, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп