Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Angels with Dirty Faces , by - Puff Daddy. Release date: 19.04.2005
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Angels with Dirty Faces |
| Big beef, (I was passin til the cops come |
| Ready, ready, ready, ready ready.) |
| big beefin with the mistress, |
| for the backs of the lions as we growl mutherfucker |
| we all livin in the last motherfuckin day, this is revalations |
| if it don’t go down now that mean nobody was wrong |
| and you face yourself with that question, for the answer. |
| the fuck do you believe in? |
| Let’s take a pie to the badguy |
| Zero well where my cateye dadeye |
| My flavour frame the raddle |
| Hot out, hot out of problem |
| My album hit the shelves we hustle for record sales |
| If my niggas stole hear my niggas thirty thousand tales |
| Get me squad cars excetera (Excetera) tell me my position as we yell (Yell) |
| This isn’t bullshit like pimples in the public |
| Made gratafying |
| If you don’t like my bullets set hell ta pink faction |
| L.A. Lugers start your mad punk |
| They really got a smash on And they would probly blast you |
| I’m married to the game and every year’s the same |
| Bullets rain all season |
| Heaven and Hell is only what you believe in Empty the shells and niggas give you the reason |
| Everyone one’s the type ta be stuckin, duckin and weavin |
| Probly breathin |
| My stories no fairy tail rich niggas ain’t neva sell |
| From my buck to the world |
| Gave my Glock to my girl |
| Don’t mix the kids with the Benz |
| Baby it ends if she sells woofin |
| Ohh playa ohh nigga |
| Gotta lot of shells to lock you down (x4) |
| Lookin theys bullets hit guerillas |
| Expressions can mean a lot to my stressin and progressin |
| You guessin I seen a lot |
| The papers got it stressin and impressin |
| We spin a lot |
| Confessions get us blessins from the Lord |
| We sin a lot |
| Wonderin «Will he let me in or not?» |
| I’s still tryin ta find a reason why |
| Because I’m a bad boy |
| They wanna label me a bad guy |
| Who am I? |
| It’s P Diddy muthafucka |
| Do or die? |
| Don’t give a fuck motherfucker |
| Two strikes no chicken types |
| It’s the type he bucks ammunition, |
| (Pistol shots) buck, bucks ammunition baby |
| He’s got the flavour the kind that got me still down |
| Run around me watch the hill down |
| So buck the best I’m hear now |
| Yes, best neva gone |
| Fresh out the foster home |
| If I had a just talked to the psychiatrist |
| Tell him my head is just blow with a sciness |
| Can’t you come ride with me? |
| Come ride with me? |
| Bubbye me with a gun |
| Slide the weed and rum |
| Come get high wit me You don’t talk weed wit me, Bizzy Bone |
| You don’t leave me anymore |
| Leave me bitch, shit I’ve slept on the floor (Ha ha ha) |
| Who dat left before? |
| Blackout tears the stackhouse |
| Criminals, detention aren’t they always bad |
| when I’m thinkin dem (Come on) doctor? |
| Incetiest, hiddyest, grittiest, shittiest |
| in the club smack the prettiest in a mini |
| Grittiest beef in with the mistress |
| Diddy the city I pitty with little kids picking up pennys |
| and niggas I thought I brought up with selling book for a living |
| making minimum wage like confetti, it’s gotta be a mistake |
| Y’all oughta don’t tell us and it’s just those seven elements |
| Don’t tell us it’s those seven elements |
| Dippin on in our lips for money and it don’t land upon that |
| We ready like 45 scripture |
| Make money like that, nigga, you know what I’m sayin |
| See what you niggas do to me I do to you |
| And if I’m who you came to see then do what you gotta do We can do it anywhere, right here, right there |
| And if you sleep turn your dream to a nightmare |
| Niggas gon creep |
| No sleep til the heat |
| They lookin at me funny, fuck a hoe get this money |
| It time for the misfits niggas bring ya clips |
| Boys on my mind |
| Packin bullets from the mines my brothas |