Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Will They Die for You?, artist - Mase. Album song Harlem World, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 19.04.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bad Boy
Song language: English
Will They Die for You? |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| How many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah |
| Well, I’mma ride for you, would you ride for me? |
| Well, I’mma die for you, would you die for me? |
| Obviously, we all know you type of cats |
| Let they man get struck, never strike back |
| Stay in the street, seven days a week |
| Shit get hot, you never blaze your heat |
| Stupid motherfucker wanna play me sweet |
| So I keep 'em on his toes, that way he never sleeps |
| Bigger than the king and the Pope, sling no dope |
| Call me anything but broke |
| When it’s on, I guarantee my team don’t choke |
| Want a war, you niggas better bring yo' force |
| And when I say we won’t quit, believe this shit |
| When I talk about a Benz, let you see the 6 |
| And when I’m talkin' to a ho, let you meet my bitch |
| When Puff talk, you niggas take heed to this |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Yo, if you down to act, we came to scrap |
| We beef '89, still watch your back |
| A nigga smack me, I’mma smack 'em back |
| If it lead to the guns, then that be that |
| And lately, niggas that snake me, just make me |
| Wanna send 'em heat without AC |
| Thinks I’m sweet, taste me |
| How much you really want it? |
| Enough to put a mil' on it or your deal on it? |
| This year Cancun, guess who I’m going wit |
| My own niggas, see I pay my own trip |
| Make my own chips, I copped my own 6 |
| I knock my own shit, like I’m on my own dick |
| My day be short, need coke, raid the fort |
| I’m knocked by the cops, come blaze the court |
| And though niggas die for, go on the shelf |
| Disrespect and spend like a man below your belt |
| Me, I always had, so I never go for self |
| Had thousand dollar bills with Teddy Roosevelt |
| Better slow down, tellin' you now, put the dough down |
| Kick your door down, surround the block |
| Where you go now? |
| Fifty shots spit at you and that is not a whole round |
| Way I leave the furniture, think it was co-found |
| Here’s the low-down, messin' with Mase gotta go down |
| What more could I say but hey, guess you niggas know now |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Motherfuckin' right I’mma roll with my motherfuckin' dogs |
| Bitches ain’t around when it’s time to go to war |
| This shit here, nothing to fuck with |
| I’m the same bitch all ya’ll wanna try ya’ll luck with |
| Lil' Kim spread like syphilis |
| You think I’m pussy? |
| I dare you to stick your dick in this |
| Chrome 4−4, inconspicuous in the 6−0-0, shit’s ridiculous |
| Speak when you’re spoken to and only with permission |
| Like E.F. Hutton, when I talk, niggas listen |
| So don’t ya’ll be mad at me, cuz I’m the Q to the B |
| To the motherfuckin' E-E |
| Copped my CD, now all ya’ll wanna be me |
| See me on the TV, beds will dip in 3-D |
| Peep the CD, chromed out and phoned out |
| My shit is paid for, your shit is loaned out |
| I gets it on, money keep growin' |
| Ice fully glowin', plus I’m bad to the bone |
| In the danger zone, I hold my own when the pain is gone |
| Like a splinter I enter |
| So why should I throw my blows in those |
| Do a bit upstate and take the weight for your troubles |
| My nigga B.I.G, I’mma ride for |
| But it ain’t too many niggas that I’d die for |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |
| Yeah, how many niggas that’ll die for you? |
| How many get a ki', slice the pie wit' you? |
| I ain’t talkin' 'bout those that get high with you |
| Niggas know infrared’s on ya head and they ride wit' you |