| Yeah, D-Block
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| Styles P, you wit me dog?
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| Hell yeah, let’s get 'em, yeah
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| Let’s go
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| You get smacked with the hammer, nigga play your position
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| 'Fore rigor mortis set in and you stay in position
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| Nigga, I’ll hawk your ass, wanna fit in my shoes
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| And you cowards can’t walk my path
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| I don’t know nobody fuckin' wit us
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| I ain’t Gerome Bettis, but if I hit you it’s gon' feel like the bus
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| And you couldn’t live this life and play this role
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| Like never part with your gun and stay this cold
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| Yo, we in the streets where it’s nothin' but love
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| I’m them leather shits, you the Michael Jackson glove
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| I’m in the hood 'cause I’m dedicated
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| If I was you, I woulda never made it
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| I’m holiday, so I’m celebrated
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| We don’t reminisce bitch ass, remember that
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| Style’s verse is the only thing gon' bring it back
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| Tell the ghetto show discipline, whattup?
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| I said Sheek gun, Puerto Rican, bullets stay whistlin'
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| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
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| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
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| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
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| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit
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| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
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| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
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| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
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| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit
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| I guess I’m gettin older
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| 'Cause everybody that I thought was hot
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| Go inside the garbage folder
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| And nigga I’m from D-Block, I’m on 3, 5, 4
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| I keep my heat cocked and my blunt lit
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| The mack out, take a piece of your back out
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| Raise it to your cheek nigga, dare you to speak
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| Shit, I got plenty guns
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| And thugs that’ll give a nigga a hug
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| And say they stab anyone
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| You ain’t never seen a nigga jaw hangin' from his face
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| Sausage shaped, red shit hangin' from his waist
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| Nigga, I’m well connected
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| By the time you hear this, I’ll be in jail
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| But I probably got two cells connected
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| Yack in one hand, with the other, the lizm
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| And if I push you down and wet you, it’s not Baptism
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| Bitch, this is Mafia, it won’t stop
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| Till they put you in the dirt with the flowers on top of ya
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| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
|
| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
|
| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
|
| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit
|
| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
|
| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
|
| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
|
| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit
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| Sheek goin' broke is not in the plans
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| I could sell gloves to a nigga with no hands
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| A lot of niggas screamin' they wolf but I’m feelin' they sheep
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| I won’t be happy till the niggas asleep
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| I’ll punch a niggas nose in, duckin' and bustin'
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| Cuttin' and cussin', hold that, you bitch ass nigga
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| And I could make the best die
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| Cut your throat open, pull your tongue through it
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| That’s a fuckin' neck tie
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| We turn bitch niggas skin maroon
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| Pump turn niggas voices like they hit a helium balloon
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| If Christ is comin', it oughta be now, I swear to God
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| 'Cause all y’all faggot niggas die according to Styles
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| What nigga you could get it for free?
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| Put your money up, ain’t nobody fuckin' wit Louch and P
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| Yeah, nigga that’s what’s up?
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| D-Block till the death, motherfucker so our gat is up
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| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
|
| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
|
| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
|
| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit
|
| Sheek and SP in and out, haul for the streets
|
| Turn the bass up and try not to fuck up your seats
|
| Rock that shit, every corner, knock that shit
|
| Niggas try to front on us, cock that shit |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song In And Out (S.P.) , by - Sheek Louch. Song from the album Walk Witt Me, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп