| Love me. |
| give me love.
|
| Give me love food.
|
| Give me love, so that I can. |
| kill.
|
| Give me love, because I can. |
| kill.
|
| He’s not real. |
| (the devil) and she must die.
|
| Die. |
| (he is the son of man, he is the son of God)
|
| Three strike you’re out they’re makin niggas behave
|
| No more slaps on the wrist gettin 90 days
|
| Welcome to the next level, it’s the new world order
|
| Snatch ya like a tractor, might kill ya for a quarter
|
| I put that on my moms, that’s on everything I love
|
| Nigga what? |
| Catch a L, make you cry like a dove
|
| So sucka free is the only way for me
|
| You don’t get paid just for bein O. G
|
| We’ve been had, we’ve been tricked, we’ve been played
|
| Right when we, went left, for what? |
| We shoulda stayed
|
| Stressed all the homies just to show they mean business
|
| Rushed 'em with the quickness, killed 'em with the sickness
|
| Tried to save his life, give him CPR, huh
|
| Somethin for the lungs, fat African drums
|
| So clear up your sinus and keep your nose clean
|
| Khakis so hot it makes the one-time stop
|
| Three strikes, you’re out, then a nigga pays
|
| We in the cage, black man is bein slayed
|
| Three strikes, you’re out, then a nigga pays
|
| We in the cage, black man is bein slayed
|
| Get with the lyrical miracle whippin up
|
| Gingerbread cookies out you rookies, huh
|
| I can’t stands no more, grab the floor
|
| Hit the deck when I let loose the tec (c'mon)
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| 'Nique, freak any beat nigga
|
| Westside 106 (?) Street, uhh
|
| The loco’s, chocolate like cocoa
|
| Get your punk-ass balled up in the trash (AHH!)
|
| You stepped on my stars, motherfucker say sorry
|
| This wild style’s like lion country safari
|
| This is for my loc’s back at the Ponderosa
|
| Check my file, bring it to trial
|
| Get with that new, ninety-fo' shit
|
| Yes it’s funky like a jackass, don’t even trip
|
| I got pages and pages of metaphoric phrases
|
| Too complex for the human eye to catch
|
| It’s the, gangsta boogie, do you want a example
|
| Or do you just wanna taste a sample?
|
| Out of control, gone, warped, zoned, toned
|
| Hand me the heater, I need the speakers
|
| Sparks, flames, no name but peep game
|
| Smoke like a choo-choo train
|
| It’s the criminal minded nigga King Tee
|
| With the Westside Riders, comin creepin crawlin like spiders
|
| We’ve been bit by the dog, call the catcher stretcher
|
| Judge Fletcher betcha, raise your blood pressure
|
| The unsolved mystery, mixed up our history
|
| Put us in the twist, we no longer exist, like
|
| . |
| dinosaurs dissapeared, then it’s like
|
| . |
| mine and yours dissapear, so it’s like
|
| Servin soon, here comes your doom
|
| Right when the world go ka-boom, so am I
|
| Sane, or, sick in the brain?
|
| Or do everybody style sound the same? |
| (Yep)
|
| Yeahh… beat terrorist. |
| (?)
|
| TR, the funk ignitor
|
| My nigga King Tee with the funky West shit right?
|
| Check this out.
|
| Beat terrorist, beat terrorist, beat terrorist, beat terrorist, (?) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 3 Strikes Ya' Out , by - King Tee. Song from the album IV Life, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп