Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Sickest, artist - Mr. Shadow. Date of issue: 04.11.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
The Sickest |
| 61 to the 9 the city of mine |
| Got motherfuckers running like at Santana High |
| So don’t try using my name for your fame |
| Mad cuz a youngster got a lock on the game |
| What a shame you ain’t the gangster that you claim to be |
| If you’re really balling why the fuck you wanna hate on me |
| Low Pro what? |
| Homey I’m a gangster |
| Amici Park Krazy motherfucker, quick to bank you |
| And shank you with the ice pick |
| Cuz this fat motherfucker claims to have a whole album off my old shit |
| It’s cold shit, but homey fuck it |
| I’ma let this poor fat fuck make a ducket |
| So don’t get it twisted thinking that he owns something |
| Shadow Presents The Mayhem Clique cost me nothing |
| All I wanted was a little bit of weed money |
| That flip a key money, then you wanna talk funny |
| From the youngest to the oldest |
| Hottest to the coldest |
| From the rugged to the boldest |
| I’m the sickest and you know this |
| I make a motherfucker fold when I throw this shit at you |
| You say that you’re this, you say you got that |
| Then homey cock your strap and show me where your heart at |
| Tricky spark that blunt and let these motherfuckers know |
| We can have a gun fight or we could go toe to toe |
| No furies pumped in this young Southsider |
| San Diego rider, shit’s getting tighter |
| Fool step aside, it’s between me and him |
| Anybody wanna trip then it’s us against them |
| That’s the way men handle it, can you hang |
| I put in work with real soldiers, faggot you like to phone bang |
| You know the name, Mr. Shadow all up in this |
| Been nosey trick you need to mind your own business |
| I got your name at the top of the list |
| For being a bitch and running your lips like it ain’t shit |
| You get hit in the ribs with the club |
| Fool you ain’t a G, in the streets you get no love |
| Already let the world know about the acting, yapping |
| Now I gotta talk about your rapping |
| You say that you’re Worldwide, Coast to Coast |
| Fool I’m still the same and requested the most |
| You serve one day and post bail, scared of a cell |
| Cuz you know that they’ll get you for the stories you tell |
| How you’re riding in them low-lows, hanging out with cholos |
| Banging puffing dodo when really you’re rolling solo |
| Talk a lot of shit but you never do nothing |
| Bitch you gotta have a loaded clip to start dumping |
| Got your heart pumping, skipping a beat |
| You diabetic motherfucker you ain’t fucking with me |
| I stay heated, weeded, not guilty’s what I pleaded |
| You call the comp and album cuz my name is what you needed |
| So be it, but fool you need to quit |
| Stop talking out your neck on the phone woofing shit |