Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Clap, artist - Mr. Green. Album song Live From The Streets, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 06.04.2015
Record label: Duck Down, Live From The Streets
Song language: English
Clap |
| 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 |