Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Made Men, artist - DJ Clue. Album song The Professional, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.1997
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Made Men |
Extraordinary |
(New shit, Made Men) |
The undisputed Made Men |
Ey yo |
Retreat your betallion quick, before your time run out |
(Nigga) I see you sweatin', don’t try a reachable gunout |
We take no prisoneers, never leavin' witnesses |
Deadly venoms, on contact, my team strikes first |
My squad’ll attack u in threes, no need for darkman |
We last man standing, who dead man walkin' |
It’s five fingers to death, when I clutch |
The microphone in my hand |
I know you niggas don’t understand |
Play my position, hold it down just like De Niro |
One of the coldest, Mortal Kombat, Sub-Zero |
I shot the shit outly, whippin the hantle clinch fisted |
Don’t get it twisted, I’m livin and dyin by the biscuit |
But I risk it, I mean my life, I sacrifice |
So fuck y’all twice, thats right I’m actin sheist |
When shots pop off, you betta duck when I done |
With the automatic pump and I’m never in the shootin slum |
My face isn’t definately the law |
In the jigsaw, puzzle |
While I screw and muscle on my six-saw |
Bringin it to ya ass, in a way you never felt it |
Yo whole fuckin' staff, who get they wigs melted |
When I’m rushed out, fresh out |
Verbal bash-out |
P.D.'s that made man |
Ready to get off for some action |
(You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves) |
… when you dealin' with some made men |
(You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves) |
… don’t be sleepin' on these made men |
(You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves) |
… when you fuckin' with some made men |
(You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves) |
Yo, its warfare, I’m splittin your hair, with a missle |
Cos I be squezzin' that type of shit up out my pistol |
Don’t talk that tone, if you ain’t gon' spark the chrome |
You shook and ain’t got no tests, starts the roam |
Yo, we man of respect, with our own dialect |
Elements surprise, wise guys, skill you ain’t acquirin' yet |
I’m on that, hot rock and punk contact |
Combat, doubt that can so you contract |
Close casket, with the eight by ten |
Sittin on top of the coffin |
Never again fuck with made men |
Your last breath, the kiss of death, from the Smith&Wess |
Splittin' flesh and I still got a mission left |
I keep they thinkin' second guess and |
Mr. Unpredictable, I’m askin', spittin' loogies from my weapon |
With indestructable niggas that called made man |
He grabbin' shit, I grab mine, so now we blazin' |
Tomorrow never dies, we suicid missionaries |
(Come on cops) smokin' hats keeps my visions blurry |
My right hand nigga be my nickel nine on my ways |
Never hesitate to pull a gun so now you gotta face |
These never-minded motherfuckers with advances |
Mean I try to hear you, leave those shells in your heads, man |
My man, ok probably unmistakently |
Motherfuckers, who make a homicide and never mystery |
(You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves) |
… when you dealin' with some made men … |