Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song CRS Westwood Shutdown, artist - Nines. Album song Gone Till November, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 03.07.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
CRS Westwood Shutdown |
CRS niggas we keep the guns cocked |
And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block |
I rep 1 block, keep the gun cocked |
And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block |
CRS niggas we keep them guns cocked |
And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep one block |
I rep 1 block, keep the gun cocked |
And I don’t fuck with them niggas, I rep. |
Ahh |
Sacked another worker for weighin up my grams wrong |
Flyin birds, I ain’t thinkin 'bout a rap song |
In and out the trap house, hands on |
Treat the yay all like an envelope, stamped on |
My nine will leave a paigon in a hearse |
My niggas whippin white, call it slavery in reverse |
Nina are in my jeans |
The industry be sleepin on my dreams |
So I’m on the street dealin with the feens |
It’s been a week, I ain’t wrote a tweet |
I’ve been in the street flyin birds, I ain’t been to sleep |
I just sold 20 bricks, I’m on a winning streak |
And in my spare time I kill a beat |
See the shine in my hand |
We the Ice City gang |
Fly to Milan or Dubai for a tan |
Drivin in the whip, Glock in the stash |
Violate the click will be on your block in a flash |
You don’t wanna see me on your block pedalin |
I leave you in a box like a wedding ring |
Fuck a punchline and a metaphor |
My YGs in the frontline sellin dros' |
Toaster in my lap |
Weed and coke are in the trap |
I spit great, these niggas sound mediocre when they rap |
Me and Jazzy break down keys |
I don’t mean sweets when I stay round trees |
It’s Nines… |
Guess I’m back to square one |
Had 2 choices, go straight but the square won |
People lookin at me like I don’t know what’s best |
Stylez died Cash lifed, all I know is stress |
This white gyal will sell, she’s a freak |
Gold-diggers on niggas cuh they sell grease |
You can look like a champion by next week |
She moves rapid, could make her worth squad beat |
Fuck all these computer gangsters, tell em the game’s over |
Visions of 09, gettin brains in a Range Rover |
They never knew the swag was off the Richter |
Scale, we in hell |
Nothin jail |
Lookin at pictures |
See more ass than pampers |
Had more head than dandruff |
And I never premeditate a gameplan |
It’s just a freestyle, but the style must be name brand |
Gyals gyals |
Who claim they run the world |
But some of you don’t deserve to run a mile |
Let alone be a mum and give birth to a princess |
And up to now with still man you’re tryna impress |
All color sticks for her lips |
Your kid ain’t really got shit |
A wide selection of flicks |
But nuttin’s up in the fridge |
Rob a man clockin your hips |
Then you clockin, now you live |
She got snitch him to get fucked |
She don’t wish him to get fit |
That’s why it’s just spinnin round in a circle |
Little Miss, growin up to be like her too |
No disrespect to the real mothers doin their thing |
Cause without you, mankind, we couldn’t do a ting |
That’s why I give my mum a kiss every time I see her |
Cause I know there’s a lot of chicks that couldn’t be her |
Real real mother in this world |
That’s why nuff man don’t have trust in gyals |
The code on the road is to move silent |
Even though the feds know that I’m so violent |
Straight Spartans, when we stampede them |
All the niggas chat, but they don’t even leave the garden |
My nigga Keyz dancin the ting, turn up |
AKs in the ocean, forces gettin bun up |
You don’t wanna see me run up |
Hoppin out the E-class |
The tough job behind the wheel wearin a ski mask |
'Member when I had the big ting, but the staircase |
And I saw them niggas commin so I beat a bare face |
My ambition is to get dough and tap women |
I shoot niggas, and I ain’t even been prison |
You know it’s pain when I tough the mic |
Niggas say they shootin and but they never touch the right |
Revenge is a must, I put my hands on the cross |
I light a nigga up if your gang comes across |
I swear |
A whole heap of weed over half a line |
Mastermind |
Tight weed and a glass of wine |
My future looks bright, fam I’m past my time |
Cross the fine, dog I shine like the stars align |
I’m on a major tip haters, so what you make of it? |
Imma take a trip makin hits like it’s way to flip |
Callin someone fake don’t make it real, can you relate to it? |
We used to take a whip, make a bit |
You can take your pick |
I’ve had to spend weeks in the same clothes |
Even had to spend weeks in the same Os |
I get ads cuh the Ps in my chain froze |
I ain’t shallow but it’s deep, that’s how the game goes |
Some dogs move like bitches |
I just wan' a car and a coup like Tiches |
Couple chicks will set up on my broom like witches |
Wack rappers need to be removed like stitches |
It’s time that you clock me |
I still pick myself up when I drop see |
I go get her so they’re never gonna stop G |
I was on one too till I got free |
Can’t clock me, but look you know the time |
But go before people hate cuh it’s over, I ain’t fake |
You may then I don’t wanna know your kind |
Tryna grow powers, no, I don’t wanna know your dime |
They say that I’m underrated |
Understated |
In a game I want to play with |
Becomin basic |
Love having forward hatred |
and rated |
Alien on a spaceship |
Done and displayed it |
I’ve made it |
Just for your favorite |
Cause know the |
Hated if they don’t rate it |
Grab opportunities, I don’t let a day slip |
You lose pay quick |
Waitin for a pay slip |
Look, how did you sleep on me |
Are you awake?, or you was waitin til the street on me |
By that time someone coulda beat a heat on me |
It’s that deep, you just shoulda flang a beat on me |
Whether I know you or not, don’t speak of me |
We beg you when I was cold with the heat on me |
On Twitter they can’t believe they cheekin me |
Tweet tweet tweet tweet, I got a beak on me |
Top the class, so I never get the merit for it |
I got lines, but I never get the credit for it |
See, the dumb fool that was metaphoric |
You’re apparent that I’ll never get the treasure for it |
I’m talkin bare weed |
You need a wheel-barrel |
Cuh my nigga Nines worth 20 keys of ammo |
That’s a lot of ammo |
Fatz clap ammo |
Stut stut and if a sparrow talk to him with a arrow |
They already know! |
We’re rollin 20 man deep |
We’re rollin 20 man deep |
Yo, council estate bike ridin to school |
No ball game, signs on the side of the wall |
Then I made dough, press the code on my gate |
Now the sign says don’t dive in the pool |
Grind some ore |
Up in the spaceship, X5 pullin up, walkin to face it |
Ring cloud air force strawberry laces |
I’ve taught you the basics climb to your |
Now that’s why I ball |
It’s part of the work-rate |
Rolex stature, that’s what the word say |
Titanic iceberg, mother of |
So fly like I should be in a birdcage |
Birthdays, better than I ask for |
Grey Goose, Red Bull more than a glass full |
Pourin away champagne on the dance floor |
Who said I can’t but I’m switchin the weather |
Makin it rain, better get your umbrella |
Show room floor when my shit gets better |
Copp a white M3, lipstick leather |
Glued to the money call it stick cheddar |
LV’s on my glass frames |
Get money live life in the fast lanes |
Flyboy but I think you missed the last plane |
First-class game, come and keep up |
I remember back when I used to be but |
Now my Louis belt hold my DNG jeans up |
See what |
I live life on full throttle |
Champagne campaign, yea we pop bottles |
But it wasn’t always this fun |
No, I had a few shots so I couldn’t miss one |
Then I made money so I let my wrist count |
Bought a nice iced kettle that will make your wrist numb |
Made funds |
Yea I turned snow into cream |
My phone’s now blowin with green |
I was sellin the dream |
Now I’m just swimmin in the money |
Do you wanna come roam the stream? |
Scene |
True Religion jeans |
Cocaine change |
Shoppin in the cocaine Range |
I been sittin on planes |
Cause I like my seats a little higher |
Got birds and the clothes fam, I keep it lookin flier |
Tears in my eyes, Jheeze |
Still on the roads on these cold streets |
Walk us the other side, still man it’s no Ps |
Bare new niggas in this old beef |
RIP Stylez, I hope one of them niggas goes sleep |
Small to my chest |
I don’t know what’s next on store |
Bare niggas wanna draw me out, I ain’t a chest of drawers |
Chillin with the Presi. |
in the White House |
300 Spartans, then it’s lights out |
Busy trappin, I ain’t gettin |
Cuh 2 months back I was jail house, I was gettin gym |
And now my dogs are my associates |
We suttin close, cuh doggy is appropriate |
Focus on my work but I ain’t gettin colleague |
Word round town that them Church niggas gettin holied |
Tightest screeches from the dingdong |
Paigons try soundin it off, but it ain’t a singsong |
Who’s shootin from the back of the car, they ain’t King Kong |
The AK make the car spin off, no Ping Pong |