Lyrics Till I Die - MC Eiht

Till I Die

Geah
Thug shit, nigga
G’s in the Y-2-K
Hey, what can I say?
(geah)
Hoo-Bangin's official, nigga
And right now we gon' do some of that thug shit for that ass (killa)
Geah, that’s makin' me wanna do some of that evil shit (West Side!)
Check it out
Feel a little gust of wind so I jet
This real nigga dwells from Compton, no shit
Thugs town, right now car jacks and sales
County bus rolls through — niggas trips to jail
What the hell won’t trade it, high class can’t fade it
Out of town trips with pigeons is how we made it
Y’all niggas hate to get a dubs and rocks
Land of the green weed and cars that ???
hops
Don’t stop — packin' my heat and Beretta
Guarantee my hollows goes tough through your leather
Whenever the rhyme play or the 9 play (ping ping!)
It’s a done deal when I hit you run way
Y’all niggas must be gay, smilin' and shakin'
How this bitch greed shakin' up money, we keep mention
Never fakin' the funk, punk, I pops the trunk
4−5 hittin' yo' body, takin' a big chunk, geah
Till I die nuthin' but makin' cheese
Till I die tryin' to come up on ki’s
Till I die nuthin' but guns and weed
Till I die givin' you just what you need
Murda, murda, murda, kill, kill, kill
Steel is my reputation, caps get peeled
Front line nigga for dollars is my nigga
But I’m kinda fast when they spit the 9 triggers
Till my dying day I lay away
Till my very last breath, nigga, I swear to make you pay
Guilty conscience?
Never me!
Last night nigga done caught a felony
Jealousy try to approach, wanna promote
Then provoke through gun smoke, watch out, loc!
Shake down cause these niggas fuckin' with yours
Get in where you fit in even if it’s a back door
Or the window, tie up the ho', where’s the scope?
Trying to hand me you popped, you’re booked, I want more
Lock down for me on the bus downtown
Now my — outlook is a sad-faced clown, geah
Till I die is gon' be H double O
B-A-N-G-I-N fo' sho'
Niggas never thought that they would ever see me
With my — eh — blue rag buddy from the C-P-T
We be kickin' in do’s, sweevin' 4−4's
Shovin' 30 clips in a fully Mack 1−0's
So as the clock tickin' - and the plot thickens
We be juggin' up Sherman — and rockin' up chicken
(What you need, nigga?)
Time to elevate the game and turn it up a notch
And bust on the muthafuckin' neighborhood watch
My money greener than a clover — in a 4−6 Rover
I be a millionaire thuggin until it’s all over
I take a ice cold 40 of Cristal and what they servin'
Me and a Persian ho in a 6−4 blowin' doja while we swervin'
Keep that off the hood, greed and determination in my eye, nigga
Be my piece of the pie, nigga, so I ride until I die, nigga