| Whoa
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| Yeah Yeah
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| Muthafuckin' camouflage hitman
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| Assassin, soldier, sniper, murderer
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| Nigga what
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| My brother Ghost off in this bitch
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| Smoke in this bitch ya heard me
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| To all the projects and suburbs and hoods in between
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| Keep a scheme like these crack fiends still on they scene
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| The life of the poor and dangerous wrote in my words
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| Quotin my verbs and words while they puff on they herbs
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| Sitting on my curb watching this birds
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| Lil' man he crossed the street trippin' on this gangsta shit that I word
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| I’m laying back with some neighborhood cats listening to some chat
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| About who’s on crack and all of that
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| Good times they like the Lord all of us is waitin for em'
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| Some junk got drunk and told my niggas that he saw him
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| They said it was lies but i was tellin my guys
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| He coulda been the very God in disguise in my eyes
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| The crack lady cried cuz' she was owing some guys
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| They rushed the crib and put the black around both of her eyes
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| You gotta play it wise and peep game from a distance
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| Abandoned houses is hotel suites for the rats and mouses
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| Or should I say mice the trigger spray twice
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| A nigga shot the street lights to keep his sights on the low
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| Plus the fuckin' 5−0 is interrupting my flow
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| I’m flirting with this neighborhood new face
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| She got an ass that’ll make you do base and screwface on your partner
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| But she’s a popper the type you pullin' out ya knot for
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| It ain’t proper I had to stop her
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| I had to stop her
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| Uptown, we live to die
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| Pour liquor for my niggas who enjoyin' the sky
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| If y’all identity with the way to survive
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| Then say camouflage
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| Check it we spray paint the block up
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| For the niggas locked up and those who got popped up
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| Pour the vodka on the concrete
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| Behind the cell catching hell gettin' my mail
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| You turnin' pale cuz you ain’t seen the sun since you in jail
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| They got you with the redband now you a walking deadman
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| And just to touch land you can’t wait like the redman
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| We still duckin from the fed man
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| Dippin' in the cuts like it’s?
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| With contraband in the hands of good ones
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| A nerd turned hoodlum paranoid be just like the shook ones
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| Limited be the life of crook ones
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| The ghetto ain’t the same devil is blamed
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| Younger niggas taking it to different levels again
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| Slim frame with the alias name was out of reach till them cellulars came
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| With chips up in they frame
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| And rocked limos with tinted windows
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| With these hoes? |
| sentimentals
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| Moonroof let ya' window blow
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| It’s all apart of growing up
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| Spiked punch got us throwing up
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| Weed slowing up the thought process
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| And it’s a thin line between reality and my rhyme
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| I walk in peace with the ghost of my kind
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| Stay close to my nine |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Camouflage 94-99, artist - Mac. Album song Wrongfully Convicted, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп