Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Time For A 187, artist - Master P. Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Song language: English
Time For A 187 |
| Uhhh, niggas done fucked up |
| Nigga, its time to roll |
| Pass me them nigga chasers |
| Time to do a 1−8-7 |
| It’s time for a murder |
| If you a G nigga, load your shit up |
| Some nigga got some bad ice cream, came short on the dizzough |
| 'Bout to hit the window, gats out the window |
| And goin' crazy, niggas can’t phase me |
| If you come up short, niggas 'bout to read daisies |
| This your final call, I mean your final breath |
| And when I hit you with that tech I’m bout to put you to rest |
| I’m crazy, psycho and outtie |
| Niggas can’t fuck with me the set is fuckin' cloudy |
| Lay your ass face down on your stomach |
| You know you dead for fuckin' with my money |
| P don’t take no shit, everyday all day I’m breakin' bread |
| 24/7, try’na get paid |
| And lose these hoes in the dope game |
| 'Cause I be crazy, psycho call me the murder man |
| Hustla, balla, put you in the funeral parlor |
| 9−1-1 in your pager and haul you |
| And when you call back you dead, bitch |
| You bust at my Chevy and missed now who you playin' with |
| Its time to face death, last smoke |
| Last dash, your last jump |
| I’mma let you live, psyche |
| It’s time for a 187 (drive slow, dim the lights) |
| I think I see the enemy (time to do this) |
| A 187 (drive slow) |
| I think I see the enemy (dim the lights) |
| A 187 (time to do this) |
| I think I see the enemy (roll down the window) |
| This will be your last drink, nigga (roll down yo window) |
| Let’s make it a Bloody Mary |
| Just did a who-ride, mean a homicide |
| Did a drive-by, fuck it I’m from the Southside |
| In Richmond, California niggas don’t give a fuck |
| But if you come shizzort, you in that black truck |
| Get you nose swole, I mean your neck broke |
| When we break you off that 44 |
| Face down 'cause it’s danger |
| Niggas from the south keep one up in the chamber |
| I mean we G’s, who you be |
| What set you with, nigga do you know me |
| If you don’t you dead |
| Ain’t no love for cockroaches, 'cause roaches get sprayed |
| And ain’t no fear in my heart 'cause I’m TRU |
| Bullets in my vein, see my tattoo |
| TRU cross my stomach |
| Eyes hella-red been up all night countin' drug money |
| But ready to roll with my homies |
| And after the party, once again it’s on G |
| I’m gone off that doja, I think I see dem' rollers |
| But that ain’t gon' stop me from takin' your head off your shoulders |
| I’m from the projects, we live an eye for eye |
| And when you fuck with mine you gotta die |
| And if your name get scratched off the wall bitch |
| There you go, just took a fall trick |
| When that No Limit tank start hittin' |
| Nigga them gats start spittin, good riddance |
| You better run like «The Running Man» |
| But if you ain’t Schwarzenegger, bitch this your last game |
| That beam at your forehead |
| I don’t give a fuck, you can’t run from the infrared |
| And when I catch you, you murdered |
| Lyin' on your back, stuck like a turtle |
| Got cho' head weavin' and wobblin' |
| You cryin', you scared to die you slobbin' |
| You beggin' for you life |
| I’m a give you somethin' to make you feel alright |