Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Do Or Die, artist - Joey Fatts. Album song Chipper Jones Vol. 3, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 03.08.2014
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Cutthroat
Song language: English
Do Or Die |
My momma always told me niggas not ya' homies |
So I do my dirt by my lonely, cause court turn gangsters holy |
Strapped up with this 40, from long range I’m like Kobe |
Niggas know about Joey |
Fuck that talkin', boy, show me |
Even though I’m gettin' paid, I’m stuck in my ways |
Front and get sprayed |
Still post in the hood, same nigga from back in the day |
My niggas don’t play, so don’t get fucked up |
You know Thump got the pump tucked |
Hit your block like what’s up |
Spendin' money on shells, give a fuck about jail |
You can get 'em for free if you fuck with us |
Leavin' stains on that pavement |
Then it’s back to the block, choppin' that rock |
Niggas feelin' like cavemen |
Lay low at the Days Inn |
My bitch name go on that room |
Cause my block hotter than June |
Gettin' high like Cudi, I’m the man on the Moon |
Stay with my tool, cause if you snooze, you lose |
And my niggas winnin' |
Catch your ass slippin' |
Late night bust a mission |
Pray to God, everyday we sinnin' (everyday we sinnin') |
But I don’t give a fuck |
A young nigga probably could’ve been a senator |
Instead I’m standin' on your block with a toolie tucked |
Spot a 'op, like Pac, I’mma hit 'em up |
Do you wanna ride |
In the backseat of my Chevy |
It’s 'bout to be a homicide |
Gettin' high while we drive |
Niggas do or die |
See a 'op, grab the Glock |
Let these hollows fly |
(Repeat Hook) |
My momma always told me niggas not ya' homies |
But you was my brother |
Shit, we did everything for each other |
But I guess you not built for this |
Gang-bangin', no censorship |
Nigga, you a bitch |
Got me clippin' with extended clips |
Cause you backpackin' when you rain yo lips |
You should of stuck to the fuckin' script |
But you had to tell, yeah |
Now you on papers and the homie got twelve years |
Give a fuck about hell, yeah |
We ain’t got shit cause it’s already hell here |
So I’mma do what I gotta do to let niggas know |
We don’t fuck with these kinda moves |
Knock on his door with the four, nigga play it cool |
Soon as a nigga open up, I’mma body him I promise you |
I gave niggas my loyalty, and niggas snitched |
I don’t fuck with that |
So I’mma let these shells hit his head |
Turn Wizards hat back to a Bullets cap |
Show niggas not to fuck with Fatts |
And snitchin', niggas don’t condone |
And nigga, I keep my strap everywhere I go like a mobile phone |
Fire shots at your dome, guy followed him home |
Two more just to settle the score |
If his ass end up livin', we gon' give him some more |
Cause when you gang-bang, you know what you sign up for |
It’s just the code of the streets |
Stay low, roll with your heat |
Don’t talk to police |
Cop guns, dog, don’t cop pleas |
Till you die, ride on your enemies |
Do you wanna ride |
In the backseat of my Chevy |
It’s 'bout to be a homicide |
Gettin' high while we drive |
Niggas do or die |
See a 'op, grab the Glock |
Let these hollows fly |
(Repeat Hook) |