Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Klyde, Mall, Dre, artist - Rydah J. KlydeDate of issue: 29.01.2007
Song language: English
Klyde, Mall, Dre |
| -=talking=- |
| Testin' yea let’s do this shit baby |
| Shit I don’t know I can’t hear that shit |
| You know my niggas they control the weight |
| From the Golden State |
| I hold your fate in the palm of my hand |
| Wit this here throw away |
| I empty out and load the K |
| The lil' figga wit the gun that’s bigger than him |
| It’s kinda hard to hold it straight |
| But still I knock Louie |
| Seen shit rip through him |
| Got stooie wit my killa click |
| Cop, chop shoot him |
| Like I’m fresh in the game |
| Just reppin' my name |
| Young and in love wit the tec when it flame |
| You know my name |
| Shit I was on the block |
| Wit a freshly chop though |
| Didn’t have spinners |
| I’m out the bag that’s my knock bro |
| Fresh out the box wit the Glock though |
| Plus my niggas ridin' tonight |
| Two of 'em waitin' for that fiend rental to slide through |
| Then my hustle gon' pause |
| For this tooly by the muscle in my drawls |
| Me no tinsel wit y’all |
| I touch y’all |
| Half way niggas rookies |
| And will never touch raw |
| Buy the crack and watch me bring the applause |
| Blocka, Blocka! |
| Mac-matic slanguistics |
| Break it down in fractions |
| Every verse a nigga spit is like a commercial for boss mackin' |
| When it hit the streets you should just see how they re-actin' |
| Animal attraction |
| You fiends is relaxin' |
| Hit it once and back spin |
| Mac slap the captain |
| Body bag the boss man |
| You don’t want it to happen |
| Cutthroat approach |
| Leavin' t-shirts soaked |
| Bust shots at your throw back |
| Leave hoes where the team go |
| Valley Joe Crest Coast |
| Mackin' to the next level |
| Highly professional |
| Street level but high post |
| Ghetto to ghetto |
| Boonies to barrios |
| Cess spot turf |
| Every H double O-D |
| Meezie and Dreezie make it look easy |
| Grimy and greezy |
| Don’t make me leave yo moms weepin' |
| My nigga J. Klyde will leave 'em where you’ll never peep 'em |
| All my peoples quick to push that line for they seaman |
| A few years ago when I used to grind |
| Police used to fuck wit me all the time |
| A young Codwell banker |
| A Gunthy Ranker |
| Strapped wit thump thanker |
| A cold drunk tanker |
| Stupid dumb, mentally disturbed |
| I used to bother people |
| And get on people nerves |
| Standin' on the curb |
| Trynna get it off |
| I sell it to 'em hard |
| But I buy it from 'em soft |
| I’m a felon and a boss |
| It’s funk I spray dude |
| Dump out the prelude |
| On them punks and gay dudes |
| I pay dues |
| You can’t fit Mac Dre shoes |
| I break laws |
| And I don’t obey rules |
| I drive wit my L’s suspended |
| Get apprehended |
| Cop gets commended |
| Now I’m a defendant |
| They forcin' me to spend it on fines and fees |
| P.D. |
| mad cause I’m makin' all kinds of cheese |