Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Gone In 30 Seconds, artist - Royce 5'9. Album song M.I.C. Presents, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 25.10.2004
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Heaven Studios
Song language: English
Gone In 30 Seconds |
'Til the .9's is out flyin out with the split bones |
I learned you just talkin, it’s just a song |
Your words will not turn to sticks and stone |
Don’t worry about murder my mob won’t do it |
Only worries is worryin how I’m gon' do it |
That mouth you got, it’ll create yo' hype |
And you might wanna watch it cause it could save yo' life |
I don’t mess with what I can’t leave in less than thirty seconds |
You will rest in a box in back of a hearse if I feel threatened |
You got your vest on but I don’t know why cause my AK say it’s just a shirt |
You be bench-pressin the earth and not blastin or askin questions, first |
Yeah. |
c’mon, yeah. |
M.I.C… |
Of all I’m a gangsta, the album is scary |
I’m Malcolm, I’ll get down if necessary (necessary) |
By any means — in which |
You breathe in the mic is the reason you left with a skinny team |
This .9 rings, settin 'em straight |
The rest, I’ll show 'em what the five fingers said to the face |
If, act hard and you will head for the Gates |
And I don’t mean the one in your backyard; |
I’m talkin Pearly |
Christians call it sinnin (yeah) Muslims call it winnin |
And witnesses call me worldly (worldly) |
This life is full of the type of nigga that’ll pull out a gun or a knife |
Do it and run off in the night |
We specialize in the truest to ever ride |
You slip you lose your life, you blew it like a breathilizer |
Asbestos flames come out of his mouth, he a rider |
The next best thing to the Mafia and my motto is |
Yeah. |
Rock Bottom nigga, yeah |
T-Dot nigga, yeah, the M.I.C |
Spittin real life from this shit |
AK rifle with clips is chrome with the knife on the tip |
Or two .9's sit right on my hip, that’ll light up your strip |
And if you drivin let 'em die in your whip |
Moms cryin and shit, fuck talk, better duck the lead |
Cause them bullets poppin out the toaster like Wonder bread |
Rhyme with your Lex out, chief in ex' house beaten |
When I whip tecs out you stressed out bleedin |
Wife and kids get X’ed out even |
Kill stress out, catch 'em leavin while I’m in the next house squeezin |
Stop breathin when barettas be spittin, I never be missin |
We actin like the gun law never resistant (whoa) |
See I laugh when niggas be stuntin |
Cause one flick of a button’ll pop the stash and the triggers be thumpin |
Dumpin niggas ain’t killin right, dealers ain’t dealin right |
Fuck the mic, real life, this is what I’m feelin like (like) |
Uhh. |
D-Elite nigga, yeah |
Tre Little nigga, yeah, c’mon, yeah |
So you talkin about me so you can get known |
'Til the .9's is out flyin out with the split bones |
I learned you just talkin, it’s just a song |
Your words will not turn to sticks and stone |
Don’t worry about murder my mob won’t do it |
Only worries is worryin how I’m gon' do it |
That mouth you got, it’ll create yo' hype |
And you might wanna watch it cause it could save yo' life |
Yo, whatever homie, you can go and take that chain off |
Respect the pistol, it’s official, Little got them thangs out |
I hang out at bars where shots ring out at cars |
I game all your broads like, «Ho, come with a star» (c'mon) |
E’rybody know me, well at least in the D |
Gotta be top three; |
Gordy, Zeke or me |
Arrogant as a fuck, like «Damn, I match my truck» |
Gun and chain ain’t tucked, you don’t wanna run up (you don’t want it) |
Yeah, it’s just not worth it, I got stripes like a zebra |
Make you run like a cheetah, I don’t mind if we meet up |
Your neck a lil' froze, then let me turn the heat up |
Burger and the beef up, I’m like Kain when I creep up |
Hold me down, run them sneakers |
Homie I don’t know your people, yeah I’m bout to fly my eagle man |
And I don’t care what y’all say in these streets |
We deep, D-Elite'll Nyquil you to sleep, yeah |
Yeah, uhh, yeah |
Yeah, yeah. |
this that shit right here K |
Yeah, shooter music nigga |
We call this shooter music |
Uh-huh, yea |
Royce fever nina, T-Dot range |
Tre Little, Rock Bottom |
M.I.C., yeah |