| Turn me up somethin, nigga |
| Cause I can’t even hear myself, nigga |
| Whoa, Y. A |
| Taa Daa Dow |
| Yeah, Yeah, Yeah. |
| If you a rider, nigga let’s roll |
| If you a hustler, let’s get doe |
| If you a soldier, let’s get low |
| But keep it gangsta anyway ya go |
| I’ll ride with my brothas, die with my brothas |
| Drive by pull a homicide with my brothas |
| We fight amongst each other, but we ride together |
| And soak up all the game that Gotti tells us |
| Like let’s get low, flip that whole |
| If one of us gets signed we split that doe |
| Catch me in the kitchen thousand grammer |
| I keep it flippin', need more arm and hammer |
| I can cook and ship and I’m good with numbers |
| I’m the one they run to when they coke start crumblin' |
| Gimme that work watch how quick I twerk it |
| Gimme a bird and I’ll flip it to a turkey |
| Y.G. ya heard me on the block servin' |
| Everybody says that my momma don’t deserve me |
| Go get the word out, I gotta bird house |
| With a hole in the wall so I serve out |
| (Hook: 2x) |
| Yeah, Yeah, uh, uh |
| Let’s go get 'em, let’s go chop 'em |
| Let’s go hit 'em, let’s go rob 'em |
| Pockets gettin low, that’s a fa sho' problem |
| Heater ready to blow problem solver |
| Chromed out forty-fo' mag revolver |
| Guaranteed not to leave a track if I off him |
| Next thing you know, back to coffin |
| Smoke a nigga like a Zig Zag now I’m coughin' |
| Two to his neck, two to his noggin' |
| Didn’t touch his vest, I left his head throbbin' |
| Red beam out, shots ring out |
| Get away car while my lead streams out |
| Guerilla in the mist so my tires peel out |
| A heehaw with alist, who’s next to cross out |
| Dealing with the gift to flip and rip this |
| Bizzle in this bitch! (Bizzle in this bitch!) |
| Whoa! |
| (Hook: 2x) |
| My vocabulary hereditary and legendary, hittin' hard like a secondary |
| I know it’s hard but disregard my commissary |
| Cuz I’ma murderer clip inserter no commentary (no commentary) |
| Ha, yeah and one bird will get my momma off 53rd |
| And everythang be everythang |
| My momma nerves is bad, she don’t want me servin that |
| She heard me rap and told me to work with that |
| So I racked up my soldiers headed to tha battlefield |
| The real survive the fake shake like rattles will |
| Light up tha block just like a candle will |
| Voted most likely as to handle steel, that’s why I handle steel |
| I gotta plan to build buildings in tha hood |
| For all tha innocent children living in tha hood |
| I ain’t a bad person snatching purses acting worthless |
| Cracking the surface with an accurate verse |
| AWOL, headed back to the block to the first spot |
| Where I can get fronted an 8-Ball's |
| Block livin', cop ditchin', the clock tickin' |
| Tock tickin' pop the clip in the plot thickens |
| Shots lickin', stop trippin' the rocks hidden |
| My Glocks glisten and whistle for my pot to piss in |
| I’m in an awkward position, quixotic and persistent |
| I rock it with precision, my squad on a mission |
| Demolition men of vision with semi’s any sippin' |
| Crop deficiency, watchin' my enemies penny pinchin' |
| Positively not in the city only robbin' |
| Squabbin', survivin', maintainin' striving and gang robbery |
| So rida, slangin' snow powda |
| Whoa partner, Scoe Gostra |
| I’m so proppa, I won’t drop my dope for no coppa |
| Calidro copper, Calico poppa |
| Metallic coat rocker, staticy Scoe shocker |
| Block-A-Wear tucked in my Roc-A-Wear |
| Get caught slippin' not aware and you’re out there |
| Now everytime you see me I’ll always got my Y.A. ridaz there |
| Youth Authority, true loyalty spit watery |
| No blows hit split rip and chipped arteries |
| Triple X Atari, Sweats and Ferrari’s |
| Y.A.-warty, we came to party |
| Y’all niggas hardly half of this army |
| We all G’s and hustlas and car thieves |
| Quick to start beef |
| Trizzle, Y-Gizzle, Scoe-Mack and Bizzle |
| Yeah we back in bizzle my nizzle |
| We all lifted, we all gifted, we all splifted |
| At the bar or stilary artillery lifted |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Get Low, artist - Roscoe. Album song Young Roscoe Philaphornia, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп