Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Spliff N Wessun, artist - Sean Price. Date of issue: 21.11.2005
Song language: English
Spliff N Wessun |
| Yeah, Sean P |
| Nahmean? |
| On Kingston Ave, in Crown Heights in the city |
| You know, Ruste Juxx |
| Haha, yeah, check it out |
| Ayo, ayo, listen |
| It go stop with the bullshit |
| Playing game niggas hopscotch when the tool click |
| Don’t make me pop ya' |
| Ya' black eye blue bitch, Frank Sinatra |
| You see ST and you be thinking rasta |
| Think it’s peace and love but I think he’ll drop ya' |
| Fake gangsta rappers got you thinking mobster |
| It’s a fact you an actor, thinking Oscar’s, yo |
| That’s when I slap this jerk |
| Take his Jesus piece, send him back to Catholic church |
| Niggas actin' like my motherfuckin' gat don’t work |
| 'Til you hit and then collapse in the dirt and screamin' «That shit hurt» |
| Motherfuckin' right, that shit hurt |
| Niggas play tackle football with a plastic Nerf |
| Bitches with dreadlocks and, drapes on they back |
| Suck dick, plus they make biscuits from scratch |
| Yo, yo, yo |
| Niggas dial 9−1-1 |
| I told the Smif-Wess one nine, one one |
| .45s and P229's |
| Storyline, it begins once upon a crime |
| Rustee Juxx in the gutter like stashed crack |
| Any block, any bitch, I’ma smash that |
| Yo, yo, ayo fuck Force 1's, Juxx stomping in Gore-Tex |
| Blaze up, you walk me through a vortex |
| Size three, Brooklyn playalistic |
| Mossberg music duke, don’t get it twisted |
| Ah, vainglorious |
| This is protected, by the B, the C, and the C |
| Sissies |
| Yo, yo |
| Ayo I shine, you shine |
| In this day in time, we pop off ya' head with the nine |
| Nah, we not soft, go 'head with the lies |
| Duke you a knockoff, ya' thread and designs is |
| Off the table |
| I’m dead broke nigga, they cuttin' off my cable |
| The criminal of the year, yeah I’m back to rob |
| So take ya' shine off, when you see me on the job |
| Due to the MAC, I’m strapped, ready to clap |
| React, stop runnin' ya' yap, and run ya' stack |
| Jaw carryin' chop and blow gems |
| Slash you in ya' Benz, we stoppin' gold rims |
| Pumpin' on the block, them rocks that glow stems |
| And I’m rollin' on 10, the size of my Timbs |
| Let me get a turkey sandwich and a bottle of juice please |
| A dollar change left, fuck it, give me two loosies |
| We ain’t got no trap |
| Three songs one session, it’s econo-rap |
| Spit, rip a nigga ass, raw rap on the reg |
| Catch me in the weed spot, clicking on the dread |
| See me in the flesh, real liftin' ya' chain |
| All you feel is the flame, fifth in ya' frame |
| In the cut wit' ya' bitch, feelin' up on her butt and her tits |
| She wanna fuck but, she can start suckin' this dick |
| I got a clique that, move more crowds than Eric B |
| With a shotgun, air hole TEC and Desert E’s |