Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Clayborne Family f/ Kool Keith & Blak, artist - Marc LiveDate of issue: 31.12.2007
Song language: English
Clayborne Family f/ Kool Keith & Blak |
| Clayborne Family |
| Dollar figure |
| We come to take your heads off boy |
| You thought we was playin? |
| Hahaha |
| It’s real out here in this field |
| Come, uh, uhh, uhh, uhh, uhh |
| All five go wit chalk in heaven |
| These niggas they just tried to hit me with seven |
| Shots to my motherfuckin torso |
| I had my bulletproof on, and forty-four |
| They tried to take me from my momma and my boo be |
| I ran up, shot they ass up in they hooptie |
| So who the fuck these cats think they talkin to |
| I put a spark to you, I’ll turn your carcass blue, huh |
| I got my competition beat hands down |
| You a stand up nigga? |
| Boom, man’s down |
| Ain’t no one, shank or gun, mo' Guerilla |
| Been everything from weed down to coke dealer |
| Mo' «Thriller» than M.J. in the early 80's |
| Call me sensei, I move along the work shady |
| In my crimi-mal, underworld |
| I got a minimum about a hundred girls |
| They cut the dope and hold the fuckin pistols tight |
| Some cutthroat bitches with they issues right |
| So don’t make me come through and tighten yo' ass up |
| You ever heavy nigga, watch me lighten yo' ass up |
| («I tell you life ain’t shit to fool with») |
| For my peo-ples, we let the heats go, uhh |
| («I tell you life ain’t shit to fool with») |
| («I tell you life ain’t shit to fool with») |
| We let the heats go, for my peo-ples |
| («I tell you life ain’t shit to fool with») |
| («Feels like I’m viewin a body every other week») |
| See I can strangle kids, now you can read about it |
| Front page news, they say yo he’s a criminal bastard |
| I walk the streets at night, critical bastard |
| Masked up, yo I’m triple masked up (blaow) |
| Beer and 'gnaced up, crazy shit makes my |
| Temperature flip, dismember your clique |
| Run in your crib, «Eraser» style — Schwarzaneggar |
| Shit, I shoot your whole place down |
| We got the rocket launchers, local police said |
| Watch out, aiyyo the kid is a monster |
| Bring your heaviest metal, bring your heaviest level |
| Clayborne don’t run, Clayborne ain’t laughin (uh-uh) |
| Clayborne just smashin (uhh) |
| We on your block yo, we lower your stock yo |
| We bring the heat to your block, Jurassic |
| Run in the jungle make your whole clique crumble |
| NBC lost their ratings, but I’m debating |
| The channel gets new scripts with new flips |
| I ain’t goin nowhere, been here since Madison and C.H.I.P.S |
| Reality TV sucks, whack-ass actors waste a lot of bucks |
| I’m serious man, my piss wet your hand |
| Ask Puff, I’m down, you still tryin to make it in Da Band |
| My stomach expand, defecate on top of America |
| My pee stains smell in Japan, groups leave in a caravan |
| My urine cover the silver screen, who wet up Jackie Chan |
| Shake with one move the feces to Crisco |
| Ask your mom duke what’s in the fryin pan |
| You cats ain’t wipin the buttcrack yet |
| You lyrically tryin man, to pitch squat in the street |
| I squat on your Aunt Chan, my toilet drops are stronger |
| The steel reserve makes me spit longer |
| Your girl’s mad, dimes sit longer |
| Flush the commode, woman shit longer |
| Long coat expert, miss shit on your Phat Farm shirt |
| Down South Columbine, we combine and twerk |
| The Valley’s makin money, the check is cut |
| I film the back, the audience feel anal work |