| Mom, I’m sorry for the things I did
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| & God thanks for all the times you let me live
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| I should’ve been dead a long time ago
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| Should’ve been me & not Wero
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| Foot on the pedal while I race to the hood
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| Go to revillations in your little black wood
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| My homies all changin' & that fuckin' shit hurts
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| I never fuck a friend unless they suck my dick first
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| Creep & I crawl, ball 'til I fall
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| Sell you a 80 won’t charge you for the straw
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| They asked me how long I ever kept a job roughly
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| Well, I worked 6 months in that county as a trusty
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| I went to prison & I came back an animal
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| Southside, Houston’s murder capital
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| My crew is cursed, shoot you first
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| Died next to a stupid nurse
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| Put you in the bluest hearse
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| I’ll see your ass & Lucifer.
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| 6: 00 in the morning police at my door
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| Fresh, Jordan’s squeekin' cross my bathroom flawer
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| Out the back window, I make my escape
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| Didn’t even have a chance to grab my Screwed Up Tape.
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| My green light, aloe sinche queeto ky guy palo
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| Haters don’t like me 'cause my name is hard to swallow
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| Here he comes that 5 O asked me for I.D.
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| Play on his computer & finds some felonies
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| I was high, fly & a dubbed blue eye
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| Every questioned asked I came back with a lie
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| He was searchin' my ride & found my 45
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| That’s when I started thinkin' had to bust him with my 9
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| Instead I ran, now your boy got away
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| That night we celebrate like it was a holiday
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| I use to be broke didn’t have big faces
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| I had to wipe my ass with the yellow pages
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| No TV & no cartoons
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| My heffer in the kitchen washin' plastic spoons
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| I was a smoker tough on, green potent stuff
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| No diamonds on my wrist only broken cuffs.
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| 6: 00 in the morning police at my door
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| Fresh, Jordan’s squeekin' cross my bathroom flawer
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| Out the back window, I make my escape
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| Didn’t even have a chance to grab my Screwed Up Tape. |
| Oh no, what the fuck?
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| I’m a come have some bud.
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| Who want to fuck with us? |
| Ground like snuff or lupper cuts
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| Pro-tect my property, Hillwood prophecy
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| I don’t know how many times I got to tell y’all to get off of me
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| Balls hangin' all I need, smokin' bitches crossin' me
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| When I kill you niggas we can all live in harmony
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| This ain’t muthafuckin' break stone, I told you once leave us alone
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| Known to kill my fuckin' own, blame Houston 'cause that’s my home.
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| How can I make it anymore clear?
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| My bud done look like daffadille
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| 17 million a year, still I thug in my Cavilier
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| My people come, like Babylon, mexican & african
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| Few white boys that’s family, asian & mohamilly
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| Indian & that’s in Navhoe, killers out that Navadoche
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| Careful how your ass appoach, get busted like you pass a note
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| All the hoes, camel toes, smokin' on that ardachoke
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| Bought the benz, bought the boat, in my kitchen rockin' coke.
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| 6: 00 in the morning police at my door
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| Fresh, Jordans squeekin' cross my bathroom flawer
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| Out the back window, I make my escape
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| Didn’t even have a chance to grab my Screwed Up Tape.
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| Crusin' down the street with my 6 hoes
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| Bumpin' my shit, ridin' on vogues
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| Went to the park to get the scoop
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| Young niggas out there cold shootin' some hoop. |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Screwed Up Tape , by - SPM. Song from the album Reveille Park, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп