Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Beef , by - Pete Rock. Song from the album Soul Survivor II, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 04.10.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Bbe
Song language: English
Beef |
| Y’all don’t want, beef |
| No y’all don’t want, that |
| Get caught up in these streets |
| Get shot up by them heats |
| Word to my cousin, the truth and no lie |
| Me and my dawg was in his brand new Land, puffin on lye |
| Tameka came by, glossy-eyed as she cried |
| Lil' Jay got sprayed with a chrome four-five |
| That’s my motherfuckin man, get in the Land |
| Head to the rest, grab vests, switch whips to the Caravan |
| I heard an ambulance right up the block |
| Plus more shots, the shit’s gettin hot, pull up and park |
| By the back, pass the gat, hit the lights and lay back |
| Hold up, now roll up, yo where them niggas at? |
| I know one of them cats from the projects with Jay |
| The first nigga move I’mma pull this gun, spray |
| No de-lay, we stay night to fuckin dawn |
| It’s on, my head spinnin, feelin my cheeks get warm |
| Tears drip as I stepped out the whip |
| Slipped a clip, had to get hit, uh-uh that’s that bullshit |
| Yo I can’t believe my man since 3rd grade got sprayed |
| Bullet laced as he laid, chokin up blood with no aid |
| Made money for the purpose of his daughter |
| Victim of an unmerciful slaughter — explain harder |
| Or don’t bother, I’mma heat yo' ass like lava |
| Identified was that tinted gray Chevy Impala |
| Fleein the scene, as the back tires screamed |
| Now for them my man, ruined his whole dream |
| Of playin ball pro, bitch that’s how it go |
| You let me know, I’ll hit your whole fuckin team with the metal |
| Mental struggle got my hand under the bubble |
| Tryin to blow steam and leave the scene blood puddles |
| Snakes (whattup nigga?) These niggas ain’t explainin |
| (Well fuck it then) It’s time for some gestratin |
| Hit him in the worthless shell he came in |
| Murder is a sin, but it’s worse him dyin on revenge |
| And I ain’t havin it |
| I ain’t havin it, reached in the bubble and grabbed it |
| Automatic cocked back and squeezed through his Polo fabric |
| Nigga duckin and runnin, irrationally gunnin |
| Thinkin to myself, do I gotta hit someone |
| Then I heard shots from a back route |
| Fired back out, got shot, dropped and blacked out |
| Put in a clap out, didn’t map out or act out the plans |
| Now I’m consciously layin while bullets is sprayin the Caravan |
| We can’t lose, I hear shotguns then 22's |
| Left arm booze, or blood soaked through my Adidas shoes |
| Heavy breathin, a lot of bleedin |
| Bitches screamin, put over on my good shoulder, started squeezin |
| Out the back window, she gave the wrong info |
| Suddenly crashed into a Pinto |
| Hopped out, flew through the back yard, word to God |
| It’s on and I felt the gat slip through my palm |
| Kept runnin, hopped the fence, hopin that I didn’t leave prints |
| Spotted a black Ac' parked with dark tints |
| Broke the passenger’s side, hotwired the wide and slide |
| Another unsolved homicide |