Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Blackout, artist - Man. Album song Call Down the Moon, in the genre Иностранный рокDate of issue: 27.07.2014
Record label: Cherry Red
Song language: English
Blackout |
| It’s Funk Doc |
| Where da weed at, bitch?! |
| I speed back wist, down to one-way from cops |
| See thas' shit?! |
| Believe thas' shit! |
| Slaughter straight to camcorder, I’m too hot for t. |
| v Backdraw water, my windpipes attached to Project-ballers |
| You yell: «Turn the heat down!» |
| My voice, diggi-di-round-sound, some herb round town |
| And chances of ya’ll leavin', round now |
| Wait later, will make Funk page paper |
| They rape up the Juveline Ave Graders |
| Hit the High School at 187 Caesar |
| When I bust ya’ll need to back 4 achers |
| Doc ya’ll and that’s my man Jap-A-Jaw |
| The shitlist ready, who next to scratch off? |
| I’m from the underground, my soundlib |
| Platform shoes to bitches, 400 pounds! |
| : Meth & Red |
| Get up, stand up, back up, push 'em |
| Jump up, act up to make you feel it! |
| Brrrrr… STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM |
| Brrrrr… STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM |
| Yo' BLACKOUT, SHOOT OUT, SMOKED OUT |
| Move out, even knock the tooth out, to make ya’ll feel it! |
| Brrrrr… STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM |
| Brrrrr… STICK 'EM, HA-HAHA STICK 'EM |
| Now I’m the streettalkin', dogwalkin' |
| A pursuit with extreme caution, OH NOW YOU FORCIN'? |
| My hand that rock yo' cradle often |
| I’m hot-scorchin', but stome cold like Steve Austin |
| If you smell what Tical cookin', ain’t try to see, send you bookin' |
| So til ya gon' stop lookin', now what you did last summer? |
| So I started hookin', you past shookin' |
| Over open can I ass-whoopin'? |
| Ain’t no Tamara’s in the Method’s Little Shop Of Horrors |
| Go ask your father who the father from the Hilbill harbour |
| You know tha saga, marihuana plushin' gold sluggaz |
| With deadly medley, ya’ll ain’t ready for Shakwon and Reggie |
| Don’t even bother, the radio for back-up |
| Alright then, ya man got slapped up extorted for his icin' |
| Streetlife is triflin' *Body over here!!!* |
| Come meet me like Tyson and bite a nigga' ear |
| Precisin', slicin' juggerless the cut-crew |
| Ruggeder, Predator, Viking, Exatorer |
| People’s champ, niggas be takin' off competetors |
| Reachin' for the microphone, relax and light a bone |
| Straight from the Caticone |
| The Children Of The Corn, that don’t got a clue |
| Prepare for desert storm! |
| I scored 1.1 on my SAT |
| And still pushin' whip with a right and left AC |
| Gorilla, Big Dog, if my name get caught |
| I’m behind the brickwall with Aus and Nick Jaws |
| Spit poison, got a gun permit draw |
| Gundown at Sundown you keep score! |
| This training-course and ya’ll ain’t fit |
| On my crew-tombstone put 'We All Ain’t Shit' |
| Yo', all you gonna be, want to be When will you learn? |
| want to be Doc and Meth? |
| Gotta wait ya turn |
| I spit a .41 Revolver on New Year’s Eve |
| With the mic in my hand I mutilate m.c.'s |
| The most slapped on? |
| and wink |
| My shit stink with every element from A to Z So what you think? |
| I’ma blackout on just one drink? |
| You must be crazy! |
| A little off the wall maybe |
| Go get a shrink… |