Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Don't Be Scared, artist - Styles P. Album song Phantom and The Ghost, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хопDate of issue: 28.04.2014
Song language: English
Don't Be Scared |
| If I say so myself, we the best |
| When the lead pop, it’s headshots, you don’t need a vest |
| D-Block, LOX, we don’t see the rest |
| My blade cut a thousand niggas, that’s a key of flesh |
| You either (-) or (-) squeeze the TECs |
| I blow a smoke with the Ghost, bars speakin' death |
| I keep her wet, straight cash, yo, I’m 'bout paper |
| Pay (-) bars, every line another (-) |
| Bullpen style, kill you now, rhyme later |
| I clip from a block away, nine with the laser |
| They can hate us, but they know they can’t never play us |
| We heat-sprayers, plus you know the streets made us |
| Live life to the fullest because death is waitin' |
| Too wild of an animal for domesticatin' |
| Get a room full of rabbits and I’m defecatin' |
| Fully-loaded gun, no hesitatin' |
| I heard your gangsta rapper name resonatin' |
| We don’t believe you, you’ll never make it |
| Discipline — the term meant dedicated |
| Educated, actin' on medicated |
| Weed high, liquor high, drug dealers, stick-up guys |
| LOX, Wise Guys Enterprise |
| You ain’t got to cop it, we got you, you could rent a pie |
| God, forgive me for contributin' in genocide |
| The cranberry Beamer, MAC-10 and the nina |
| Smokin', visions of Mecca and Madīnah |
| Mobster, kill you, send a fixer and a cleaner |
| You look scared, lil' nigga |
| Don’t start hangin' 'round here, lil' nigga |
| This shit’ll get you the chair, lil' nigga |
| We makin' ourself clear, lil' nigga |
| Nigga, we in here, it’s me and (-), lodge 'em out the bullpen |
| Remember gettin' processed, sittin' in that bullpen |
| Thinkin' to myself, 'If niggas rattin' and some bullshit |
| I’m comin' home dumpin' out that clappin'-up-your-hood shit' |
| I had dreams of gettin' hood rich |
| This year, approachin' six figures, life good, bitch |
| And I admit, yeah, I love fuckin' a hood bitch |
| Give her good dick, she ridin' out with that wood grip |
| The front page of them tabloids |
| About paper, known for movin' grams and mad toys |
| Real nigga never back down, quit the fight |
| I lose, I’m like (-) when he told (-), 'Hit the lights' |
| Speak the truth, know these frontin' niggas can’t stand facts |
| Pops taught me Santa Clause wore a Klansman’s hat |
| And he rolled through the night like the Klu Klux |
| So I flipped Os of the white for a few bucks |
| Yeah, I guess I see what they can’t |
| Do what they won’t, then have what they don’t |
| Ride to work raw, where the work, y’all, I sit and curse, y’all |
| Lodge the bullpens, Clayton Kershaw |
| Lookouts in the buildin', play the first floor |
| Yeah, it’s D-Block, nigga, we come with the pain |
| Gonna cause straightjackets and shackles and chains |
| If it’s drama, come and get you, ain’t callin' your name |
| We roll up on you like them niggas that howl in pain |