| I wanted to be just like my big homie OJ
|
| Instead of going to college four years I cooked the 4 way
|
| King of the underground with no radio, pushing, no play
|
| Still got plenty of smokers and geekers up in my doorway
|
| Mama I’m gonna do it, dropping the to it
|
| Poison in my two litter, im posted with my two heaters
|
| I know that my enemies pray I get smoked for this golden
|
| Father please forgive me I done left niggas no longer breathing
|
| Broke, blind and crippled, tuned up in
|
| Nothing but murder on my mind but my bottom line’s the issue
|
| Girl don’t hug and kiss you, saying you need some rehab
|
| Serve the chronic, make me an addict
|
| Guess I’ma be that nigga until my heart don’t tick
|
| Yeah, the Indiana Godfather, Eastside bitch
|
| All is well when I bail, slang and bang 'til they tag my toe
|
| I let my nuts drag down to the floor, gangsta Gibbs baby, uh
|
| And if you don’t know, now you know, nigga
|
| Everybody clap your hands, go, go, go
|
| Everybody clap your hands, go, go, go, go, go, go
|
| Uh, plans to be the greatest, I *hok to* spit in the faces of those they hold
|
| sacred, call them over rated
|
| Haters looking at me sideways like I voted Reagen
|
| Screaming «bro!» |
| but there’s no relation, your flow is basic
|
| Grind and tired of waiting boosted up on that donorslist
|
| Been over patients, now how sick is that
|
| Mister Green on the track, I Jack the Rip for that
|
| Philly on my shoulders like Iverson had the Sixers back
|
| In them early double 0s, travel where trouble goes
|
| Landed at O Jays, cautious of undercover foes
|
| The backstabbers, they smile in your face
|
| Cards revealed they yell «Sorry!», move you out of your space
|
| It ain’t a game though, well, at least that’s how the saying go
|
| Bottles to the face, pour a little for the slain though
|
| On the road to the riches, tinted Durango
|
| Won’t park 'til the sun sets, no Drain-no, go
|
| Everybody clap your hands, go, go, go
|
| Everybody clap your hands, go, go, go, go, go, go
|
| Uh, I wanted to be just like my big cousin Chad
|
| He took a few shoots, thought he was 2Pac but didn’t rap
|
| Showed me what it was to be in a trap
|
| Start with nothing turn it into a step
|
| Cooking crack, well feeling that
|
| Looking back, yo I needed that
|
| The reason that these youngings is cold red
|
| Cause they ain’t got official ohead
|
| Mine was, conduct, my father figured dropping juice on me
|
| I’m more advanced than a lot of niggas
|
| Thoroughbred mentality, if men challange me Guaranteed that end violently,
|
| then silently
|
| Talk to pigs, that’s a no-no
|
| Offical like the polo with the little logo
|
| Do my dirt all by my dolo
|
| Now yo yo, waddup yo?
|
| Niggas is cutthroat, murder for anything but those scandalous slut hoes
|
| The streets flood of the drug sold to the snub nose
|
| Niggas fronting in the front, shots ringing when the club close |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Clap , by - Mr. Green. Song from the album Live From The Streets, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп