Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Apartheid, artist - Sean Price. Date of issue: 07.08.2017
Song language: English
Apartheid |
| I can’t lose |
| The best MC in my hood, I can’t choose |
| Worst MCs in my town, I can’t cruise |
| Never fight dude with white spikes on dance shoes |
| The lame stuffer |
| Bang, deranged fucker |
| I walk bys and guys became Kane Tuckers |
| Make enemies, make friends |
| I make money, money make moves in the state pen', P |
| This is my slot, rookie |
| Your snot box get rocked over hydro cookies |
| Slapbox niggas |
| Free can of soda with the snack box, nigga |
| The rest I can’t tell ya |
| But catalog this shit as the best of Mandela |
| I tear apart gods |
| Separate head from neck and call it Apartheid |
| With the bloodclaat |
| Nigga, fi gunshot |
| Mafi play big shot |
| Shoot up them drug spot |
| Rude boy say fuck cop |
| Sean P and Buckshot |
| Buckshot, slugs fly |
| 'Nough man a die for them tough talk |
| Tomahawk, these shots walk the walk |
| Llama spark, choppa bark |
| Box him up, cart him off |
| Leave, we are king of kings |
| Some say lord of lords |
| We spit the hardest bars |
| mastered the art of war |
| If Ruck don’t like you, Buck don’t like you |
| Ruck down, buck down, what a nigga might do |
| Black moonwalk on 'em, rest in peace to Michael |
| R.I.P. |
| Phife from Tribe, he in the light too |
| Hip-hop heaven, you see seven, that’s the God |
| All praises due to Allah, sun, moon, star |
| Some move bars, my nigga Ruck move cages |
| It’s only one Buck, but I bust two gauges |
| Yeah, drive your bitch crazy with my stick shift |
| Now she gassed up, wanna ride on my Clik dick |
| Groupie with an Uzi, nigga, shots after shot |
| But I’m bulletproof, when I’m in the booth, bombaclaat |
| Listen, if my nigga Ruck never said your name |
| Dead your claim, you with the fame, you with the lames |
| With the bloodclaat |
| Nigga, fi gunshot |
| Mafi play big shot |
| Shoot up them drug spot |
| Rude boy say fuck cop |
| Sean P and Buckshot |
| Buckshot, slugs fly |
| 'Nough man a die for them tough talk |
| Tomahawk, these shots walk the walk |
| Llama spark, choppa bark |
| Box him up, cart him off |
| Leave, we are king of kings |
| Some say lord of lords |
| We spit the hardest bars |
| mastered the art of war |
| Yeah, the most area typical |
| Great ape, say it to your face, no subliminal |
| Straight craze, fuckin' maniac, act cynical |
| Finish you, you’s a little nigga, raps minuscule |
| Fuck is wrong with these niggas? |
| What in your mind would make you think I’d do a song with these niggas? |
| I know hitters, pimpers and killers |
| Lions, tigers, gorillas |
| Leave you tied up for a skrilla |
| Won’t find you 'til next December |
| Salute to the foundin' fathers |
| That birthed you when you was little |
| And saved you from all the sorrow |
| They did it so we wouldn’t have to do it |
| But we all want a taste, take a bite, taste the fluid |
| Drew, knew it, paper, blew through it, whole crew stupid |
| Bar fights, dark nights, but we all got through it (That's Boot Camp) |
| I’m my brother’s keeper 'til the day I’m sleepin' |
| Eat thy food, roll a tree and put your feet up, Apartheid |