Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Ain't 2 Be Played Wit, artist - Mia x. Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Ain't 2 Be Played Wit |
| What, what, what, what, what, what, what |
| Huh nigga, huh nigga what, huh nigga what what what what |
| Huh nigga what, what huh nigga what |
| The crime started off, bloody |
| It’s about pistol whippins and kickins |
| Mama dishin' and blitzin' (Mama Mia) |
| Cause you hoes gon' listen |
| Taught to issue the pain |
| And distribute some cocaine |
| Can you fuck man, nah nah |
| I’m known for loosen' brains |
| Bitch you think that I’m playin' |
| Go to war by myself, grab that gat off the shelf |
| Gon' say goodbye to your health |
| Got heroin in the mail but bet my dollars don’t fumble |
| Stackin' tall like Mutombo, cause a bitch moving bundles, rumble |
| It ain’t no thang bitch I’m straight off the tank |
| Niggas second in motion, I’m a fool with that shank |
| No, I ain’t 2 be trusted |
| When I sneak I’m straight bustin' ya mouth |
| And ya nose and your eyes gon' close, swole |
| My kid sister Sherry puttin' big holes, in ya |
| Po-po's trying to find the next nigga ya kin to |
| Red dot center, bullets enter ya playa haters |
| My lace tip split ya fuckin' decision maker |
| Think you can take the biggest mama, bring the drama, go on |
| But make it known, official it’s on |
| I ain’t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split |
| I’m running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired |
| So don’t fight it baby close your eyes |
| I ain’t to be played wit', so fuck around and see what ya get |
| Toasting fingers to clips, playa haters get split |
| I’m running, humping your shit now rock-a-bye you look tired |
| So don’t fight it baby close your eyes |
| When I hoo-ride (Tank Dogs) I only ride T-R-U |
| Niggas out that booty or mister Corey Jalooty |
| Shoot now, fuck the convo nigga ain’t no stoppin' |
| When it’s on we poppin', street sweeper straight knockin' |
| What, what cocaine and trains leavin' niggas in gutters |
| Bringing pain to loved ones, burning up motherfuckers |
| Plus if ya touch one of mine this is how it’s gonna be |
| I’m choppin' down your whole family tree |
| Forget me not, it’s too hot |
| Up in that south, bitch you know how dirty |
| Better act in a hurry or I’ma load it with thirty |
| Dirty, serve me nigga by the pounds and kilos |
| And watch the gumbo pot, we breed the fattest rocks |
| Bag em' after the chop, push em' out the back door |
| Have the prepiest hoes runnin' buku dough |
| Yet the game is cold, raw dog to the bone |
| Gotta love Jones, for whackin' chrome upside niggas domes |
| If it’s on then it’s on ain’t no need to delay it |
| Bout it bout it motherfuckers no I ain’t to be played wit' |