Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Mobb Sh.. (Feat. Swoop G., 3X Krazy And Cydal) , by - Luniz. Release date: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Mobb Sh.. (Feat. Swoop G., 3X Krazy And Cydal) |
| Uh, uh, uh. |
| Still ain’t ready yet |
| Uh, uh, uh. |
| Niggas still ain’t ready yet |
| Uh, uh, uh |
| I hits the corner on three Daytonaz |
| Wit a bad ass bitch brought up in Gardena, California |
| Uh, she started tuggin, an rubbin on the Swoop |
| I’m wastin my drink swervin in my rag 6-duce |
| Uh, you didn’t know I keep it real from head to toe |
| I hit that savings and loans when I was just a baby loc |
| Went to Mexico, traded it for the pecos |
| Came back to California now it’s time to roll |
| I was 16 mane, sellin quarter keys of dank |
| My uncle was a balla from around the way |
| So I had the hook up |
| Whole keys I cooked up |
| Now all my niggas, makin major figgaz |
| Mobb shit, the type of shit you out committin a lick |
| Pistol whip them nigga to death and have a kick |
| And the twist cuz niggas be havin shit |
| Like bitches on Set It Off, dank |
| Niggas be sniffin dark bank |
| Mission accomplished boss crack |
| Hard or soft livin boys and girls packin yo shit |
| Let it off |
| Niggas who floss out here be takin a loss |
| It cost to be the mutha fuckin Boss Playa |
| Talks to throw away gats in the air |
| For makin yo scratch like that there Boss Playa |
| Niggas beware |
| The ganga-gangsta type of Luni hoolum atmosphere |
| Fo rappin about the clothes you wear, I represent welfare |
| No happy-happy, joy-joy |
| It’s these boys |
| Runnin from decoys, pimpin mo bitches than Dr. Detroit |
| It goes down |
| Mr. Smoke-A-Lot turnin pounds into ashes |
| Black ski maskes |
| Niggas be gettin the pumpkin head like Cashus Clay |
| The Yay |
| Area smoke greenery malacious all day |
| Eh, eh blaze |
| Back in the days, when I was raised |
| Niggas got sprayed wit A’s and K’s |
| I prayed to my Lord that head won’t take |
| Me over, we soldiers to fold ya like Motorola’s |
| And hit the corners |
| I told ya the 4−4 flow will fuck yo face and leave you frozen |
| Bitch you was chosen |
| That’s how it’s goin the Mobb fa sho-ness |
| Mo killaz and shady niggas to keep the click-ulation flawless |
| Fuck all that other |
| Bury yo brother |
| Leave yo family mad at the fact the Mobb took me under |
| Bash 'em other sucka, likely struck wit G’s |
| For tryin to brace |
| Cough drops laced and you’ll be laid out stunned by zae’s |
| Place the cover in a maced |
| ATF lookin for this arsonist, lettin off conscience |
| Hot traces, suicide so you really can’t fuck this |
| Bringin mo heat than Rapper Bernard |
| Lookin, micro woof tickets, bout how much to kick it that nigga hard |
| Oh, from a sucka |
| Fo them niggas that press they luck there |
| In a game fucka |
| Paralyzed caught one in the ass, punk ass |
| Couped up in an send 'em, an jive |
| Make niggas remember the Mobb |
| Them other niggas ain’t no kiddin 'em |
| An it best be a bounce off Mista, Mista |
| Hit ya, get ya, split ya |
| That’s how we shit ya |
| Parafanalia to some Mobb members unpredicable |
| Niggas get dropped, we call the shots, smashed on sumpthin pitifull |
| They see us comin they clear the block, our faces unforgetable |
| The world is a ghetto, and life is a plot |
| I’m surrounded by nimphos |
| Givin up info |
| On where you hide yo doe an indo |
| Guess what you in for |
| You bout to find out |
| That shit we in, we all contenders |
| You don’t know, you seen a nigga jumpin through yo window |
| Don’t even trip |
| I confiscate this money in the name of the Mobb |
| It’s on yo bitch |
| We’ll juss pistol whip this nigga to a coma |
| Jump in the get away ride and hit the corner |
| Yo bitch juss got mopped (the Mobb is gonna) |
| Yo bitch juss got mopped (the Mobb is gonna) |
| Get ready to get yo gats out niggas |
| Fo all you wacked out niggas |
| Bitch made batched out niggas |
| Jaw jacked out niggas |
| I’m not gonna to patch out niggas |
| These niggas don’t really give a funk about yo snitch ass |
| Never in yo life met a gat that blast on the streets at a lame ass |
| Bitch ass nigga |
| No cash gettin-er |
| Hustlin pretendin to be a gangsta |
| Switch hittin ass, nigga too late |
| He wanted his boy to get dumped in wit a 4 chrome that nigga ain’t |
| Dumpin on nothin |
| Must be runnin, and duckin and dodgin in buckets |
| Then shittin up in yo mutha fuckin drawls |
| Coward |
| These bitches I put 'em on the Mobb we gotta get gone |
| Before a nigga cool his gun |
| Real nigga runnin from Mobb |
| Will throw away Glock |
| Won’t pistol go drop |
| Never go Mobb |
| When the 4−4 stop |
| Will a nigga get mopped |
| Fo restin my knot |
| Tell 'em to get yo grill knocked out |
| You fuckin wit niggas that’ll have ya noddin like ya hopped out |
| 3 Time for the O-A-Kiz-a |
| We folks all day |
| Ager, Sneek an the B. A |
| Put him in the trunk wit a bump, an we Mobb throught the Bay |
| Don’t get it twisted we got restrictions |
| Niggas that witnessed family beatins |
| From family meetins |
| No family grievins |
| Juss some youngstas |
| Grew up around dirt an dope, an jelous |
| Evil tactics |
| To shovel up caskets, and double barrell |
| Shotty blasted |
| I’m knowin these suckas can’t catch these bodies flowin |
| Murders so ancient, they faces got federal cases closed |
| And cross the game it ain’t the thang |
| Swoop G plus two G’s will make them niggas for you to hang |
| An try to be cool when Mobbin on them niggas as we reign |
| It’s Money Ova Bitches, broke the skrilla fuck the fame |
| Sight of soldiers shock the world like Rodney’s girl |
| And we ain’t discussin shit |
| We bustin clips |
| To makin 'em hurl |
| Bullets makin them bustas curl |
| An I put that on the Mobb nigga |
| We Mobb niggas |
| Includin everywhere we go |
| That’s how we do it |
| When you see Num, you see Mobb |
| How happly if you need job |
| Even if you be Slobb you need not worry cuz we Mobb |
| Slobb don’t mean Blood |
| An Cuzz don’t mean Crip |
| An Oakland is a term for broke bitches makin grip |
| When we sip |
| We laid out, to drip-drip dry |
| We be slip-slip ride |
| Through the Town doin high-bys |
| When the yak hit my face it’s like a hamburger kill |
| We’ll be real |
| What’s the deal |
| Uh, uh, searchin fo skrill, up here! |
| Wit these tires burnin off like lavishly |
| Makes it easier for me to dig out these hoes like cavities |
| Havin these thang is like a |
| Government task |
| M.O.B. |
| not searchin fo aliens we won’t ask. |