Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Pitt Mobb Freestyle 2, artist - Solomon Childs. Date of issue: 03.03.2022
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Pitt Mobb Freestyle 2 |
| «Go 'head and bounce, homey, get up out of here. |
| We got ya back.» |
| «What?» |
| «It's like that» |
| «Oh no you didn’t! |
| Wait a minute. |
| no you didn’t! |
| You disloyal fool-ass, bitch-made punk! |
| You think you can do this to me? |
| Who the fuck you think you fuckin wit?! |
| OH SHIT!» |
| Uh, yeah, time for me to do this, man (fuck it) uh |
| This for them gangstas, stick 'em up |
| You want money? |
| Get it up |
| You want bitches? |
| Have 'em strip for it |
| You want the top? |
| You gotta work for it |
| You could do what you wanna do, but say what you wanna say |
| Betray who you wanna betray, but don’t have come looking for you |
| This is dedicated to them gangsta rappers |
| Slash gun packers, slash hoe mackers |
| Reality check, you phony, soft as cooked macaroni |
| The homey’s back, please, let me murder 'em homey |
| With that war paint on your eyes, like it’s some kind of baseball game |
| Shame shame, make believe, street credibility |
| Imposters, street crimes, imposters of the graveyard grind |
| All of a sudden everybody wanna talk about the guns they got |
| How many cats they popped, how much bank they took |
| How much juks they caught, how much coke they pushed |
| How much bush they stabbed, you a bitch, nigga |
| We ain’t never heard about you on your own block |
| We know about you on your block, you ass |
| Come get me if you really think it’s real |
| Come on and find me if you really think it’s real |
| We want blood for this shit for real |
| You go by watching me, we don’t watch you |
| You front about the things you do… |
| See you ain’t gotta perprate no fraud for me |
| Cuz your time is up, out with the old, in with the new |
| Murdered by repertoire, kill no matter who you are |
| I’m ready for the scandals, West Brighton, Staten Island |
| Murder capital, nine millimeters, aligator, leather handles |
| This what it sound like, when the enemy at your doorstep |
| Look in my eyes, rude boy, I wish you would flex |
| I will murder all eight of you bitches, man |
| I ain’t playing with you bitches, I’ll come out the realm, hair dripping |
| I haunt you like the little girl from The Ring |
| It’s like you want the world with venom |
| And you can taste the sting, Solomon King |
| My trigger finger, itches like I got athlete’s feet on my palm |
| Staten Island, broke in again, sound the alarm |
| Soldiers of Viet-Kong, B-Town, ya’ll hear it |
| Word to motha, keep on fronting and you spray it out, New York City climax |
| The lights out, lights on, nigga lights off for you |
| What you gonna do? |
| Come on, nigga, uh… come on |