Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Funky Chickens, artist - Spice 1. Album song 1990 - Sick, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 14.06.1995
Record label: Thug World
Song language: English
Funky Chickens |
| Yeah nigga |
| Muthafuckin East Bay Gangster |
| Back in your muthafuckin face |
| Rollin in my muthafuckin chicken coupe |
| Muthafuckin black-on-black caddy |
| Triple gold D’s and shit |
| Spice muthafuckin one knowmsayin |
| Straight mobbin |
| Four chickens in a coop |
| Make a nigga wanna shoop |
| Colonel Sanders ain’t poppin, droppin |
| Big fat Baby Huey, ki’s they can purchase |
| Got the whole hood ballin, nigga, fuck churches |
| Fools in the city turn the fuck up dead |
| Cos I’m servin more chickens than Foghorn Leg |
| Feds wanna know where a nigga reside |
| Cos the nuggets I’m sellin ain’t Kentucky Fried |
| See, I boil it to a certain degree |
| Sometimes a nigga even sellin quarter pounders with cheese |
| But it ain’t McDonald’s or Burger King |
| Cos muthafuckas goin under gettin caught with hot wings |
| Ba-da-ba-ba slingin that lleyo |
| Them feds don’t play, ho |
| Say no if they ask you if you seen |
| A young nigga wearin braids slinig birds out a pinto |
| Smokin indo talkin to my hitman |
| Put your ass six feet under like quicksand |
| Get some slugs and a golden shower |
| Got the muthafuckin cocaine, money and power |
| Takes a lickin and keeps on tickin, movin, stickin |
| Fuckin round with the funky chicken |
| Straight believin in flake from s-p-i |
| Never gettin high off your own supply |
| The world was a big fat vagina |
| Waitin for a nigga like me to get behind her |
| See, the ballers and the clockers know me so well |
| Servin my muthafuckin ki’s outta cheap motels |
| Cookin chickens in the kitchen to smoked-out hoes |
| Collect the shit in my lungs, collect the shit in my nose |
| See, let a real nigga tell it |
| I seen niggas swallow they lley, shit it out and still sell it |
| Keep the hustle goin strong each day |
| My little homie Larry swallowed five dubs and passed away |
| Chickens in my drawers collectin them funds |
| Can’t wear boxer shorts, gotta wear dun-dun-dun-dun's |
| Infrared cos niggas try to jack |
| See I’m sellin chickens and they gettin chicken scratch |
| There ain’t no match for this killin-ass baller |
| Call a shot like AT&T and touch all of y’all |
| I’m countin chickens in my sleep |
| I used to count sheep |
| But the chickens give me heap, so catch the tweak |
| The fuck off, I love it when my stack thicken |
| Yeah, fuckin round with the funky chicken |
| Straight believin in flake from s-p-i |
| Never gettin high off your own supply |
| Clockers walk around the track pickin doves like bird seed |
| Mix a little crack with some dirt weed |
| But I mob in my chicken coupe sittin on triple gold |
| With just today twenty chicken sold |
| And niggas love me cos I’m straight 205 |
| And when I stay alive niggas put scrilla out for my life |
| You put a hit out on me, I put one out on you |
| You wanna murder who? |
| slugs full of dirt for you |
| The underground villain, chicken seller |
| Slingin birds out the trunk, a 95 goodfella |
| Stayin under from these crooked-ass federalies |
| And leavin niggas who don’t pay me shot up in the alley |
| Murderin swift and I’m quick up out the scenery |
| Showin you niggas what my scrilla really mean to me |
| Cos I’m addicted to the lley slingin chickens |
| Got me slingin in the shower, two birds every four hours |
| Watch my ass and I’m on another mail mission |
| Finna serve some more of that funky chicken |
| Yeah you know what I’m sayin |
| Straight mobbin and shit |
| About 30 ki’s in the muthafuckin trunk |
| Niggas know what time it is |
| Knowmsayin |
| Yeah, you gotta watch your muthafuckin shit |
| Niggas will try to get you for your caine, nigga |
| You know the rules, nigga |
| Yeah, never understimate the other muthafucka’s greed |
| Straight game |
| Yeah |
| And when you’re rollin in your muthafuckin drop |
| Or whatever you’re ridin in |
| Nigga, don’t have the music up too goddamn loud |
| Cos muthafuckas’ll ride up on you and straight |
| Shoot you in your muthfafuckin head and drag you up out your shit |
| They don’t give a fuck if you’re strapped or not, nigga |
| This lley game ain’t no muthafuckin joke |
| Yeah |
| Just get in funk behind them chickens |
| Straight uncut peruvian flavor |
| Cookin chickens in the kitchen, nigga, like Shake 'N Bake |
| Call me chef ??? |
| 187 000 g’s |