Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song There They Go, artist - Obie Trice. Album song Second Rounds On Me, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Interscope, Shady Records
Song language: English
There They Go |
Yeah |
Ay, Em, you ready? |
Herc, you got them thangs nigga? |
(you know) |
Detroit city! |
There they go, them D-town boys carry the Calico |
Whenever there’s war, you gotta know |
Them boys got toys tear down the front door |
Detroit make noise everywhere that we go There they go, there they go You are not convincing |
When Detroit blocks stay flocked with henchmen |
Niggaz get popped for instance, infrared dot for distance |
Get knocked by the cops, cop on some pen shit |
Straight detention, a nigga doing tension |
Once released he on that music business |
When viewing 106 and them cafeterias |
Only to find that rap’s actually serious |
Deliriously resort back to crack and vigilance |
Same shit that sent em upper Michigan |
Us is pimping, a difference, from any city I visited |
It’s that Detroit spirit and if we in it, balling out till the ending, period |
Use O as a reference to that sentence |
The message I’m sending you, best just pay attention |
If you don’t like how I act then blow me I don’t really give a shit, I represent the real cats who know me Man what’s up with that scratch you owe me? |
Now run my chips before we fall out like Shaq and Kobe |
Big Herc on a track with Obie, when you come to the D It’s cut-throat, better be packing homie |
And niggaz get they shit split for acting phonie |
We’re known for the glocks and the choppas |
These niggaz’ll rob you, leave you standing in ya socks and ya boxers |
We got real G’s and lots of imposters |
I smoke the real trees, see I cop from the rastas |
Ya’ll niggaz ain’t impress me yet |
Ya’ll yapping, not rapping, turn that shit off and press eject |
See we known for the car shows, running from the narcos |
Keep them bottles coming, we gon’pop 'em till the bar close |
Meat cleaver, leave a gash in a bitches ass |
See her dreams of being an R&B singer diva |
Leave her face, cut her from the waist |
Ah man what a waste, of a pretty face |
And this place ain’t just safe, it’s just straight gangsta |
It ain’t just New York or L.A. that pains no more |
There’s Latin Coun’Kings here |
Southside, four, East Side and Gansen |
Nuthin but ganglands and, spray paint cans |
And when that van rolls up, man they ain’t glancing |
That window rolls down and that tre-eight's dancing |
And them shooters don’t miss, homie they hate chancing |
Straight for the dome and it’s vacate fast and |
Get the fuck outta dodge 'fore that blue Dodge flashing |
Red and blue lights, no ambulance, you got flattened |
And this was not supposed to be no Detroit anthem |
But just so ya know, if ya see them D-Boys passing |
Here we go motherfuckers |
This the motherfucking back acha Trick |
Don’t even dream of fucking up in Detroit, bitch |
This is where the real killers at Detroit motherfucker! |
Ain’t never no difficulty smashing no bitch ass niggaz |
Matter of fact, bring your bitch ass to Detroit nigga |
We got something for your ass |