| Left me standin here
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| On this lonely street to cry
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| This is a Living Legends, Justice League
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| Definitive Jux presentation
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| Brought to you by 9th Wonder aaand MURS
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| What up though, still givin' a fuck so
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| Open up your changer and get ready to dump those
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| Disc of the dudes that be soundin' the same
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| They get up on TV, steady clownin' for fame
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| Disrespectin' ancestors that was bound in them chains
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| But I’m around in the game
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| So thangs is bound to change
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| I’m tryin to walk that thin line
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| Between intelligence and ignorance
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| Have a little fun while makin' music of significance
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| A nemesis to niggas just bumpin' they gums
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| I give a fuck where you from
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| It’s where your heart at bitch
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| You gon' bite, little doggy, or just bark that shit?
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| A slave to the rhythm, 9th spark that whip
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| Cause my heart can’t quit, I got something to say
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| Cause these niggas wanna act N.W.A.
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| Niggas With Artillery and nothin' to spray
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| Just some non-right assholes with nothin' to say
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| That’s right motherfuckas
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| Old salty ass, sideways ass motherfuckas
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| Y’all fucked up now, huh? |
| MURS, get em
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| I’m from where we leaving running and we hop outta cars
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| Jump out and beat you down in some new All-stars
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| No stars and stripes, just bars and pipes
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| And niggas just start shootin', they too hard to fight
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| I’m scarred for life, and charge this mic with bars of fright
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| Dare any one of you frauds to bite
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| I’m raw as life
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| With loss of wife and cause of strife
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| Spittin' sharp with like I floss with knives
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| Not contrived or conceited, on your radio repeated
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| I’m elitist and I leave this Red Hot like Kiedis
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| I’m a Californicator and a street narrator
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| Steady runnin' rappers down until they meet their maker
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| Concrete caretaker to these weak imitators, they a
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| Screech to my Slater, piece of beef to a gator or the
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| Heat versus Lakers, I’m a speak to ya later
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| And let 9th take me out
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| With techniques and a fader
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| What’s wrong with y’all man?
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| The fuck is y’all thinkin' bout?
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| Damn, them motherfuckas is lame man, get ya shit right man
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| I’m from the home of Double K, nothin' but trouble gang
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| KWS’s, LTS’s, OFA’s
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| And every other crew that used to rack cans and spray
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| And mob the RUD before the MTA
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| So don’t hate what I say or talk down when I bust mine
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| Tryin' to make some green like the Culver city bus line
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| I’m unsigned and hyped, dump mines on sight
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| This Living Legend gang, what you punks rhymin' like?
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| I combine with 9th, sickest with these beats
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| I mean so sick like he’s forgettin' to eat
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| A hard man to take down like Michael Vick on his feet
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| And anybody chose me they was thinkin' defeat
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| I’m a spit with this heat until I get my credit
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| I’m a verbal martial artist like I’m signed to Shady Records
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| And you bitches best respect it or I will destroy you
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| Have your whole crew screamin' out «You're My Boy Blue! |
| » |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song 3:16 , by - Murs. Song from the album Murs 3:16: The 9th Edition, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп