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