Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song On My Grind, artist - T-PopDate of issue: 01.09.2003
Song language: English
On My Grind |
| Gotta get up and get it, cause I gotta have some’ing |
| If I’m broke I’ma play Spondalay, cause I’ma grab some’ing |
| I’m a soldier, and I ain’t gon stop swinging till I fold ya |
| I gotta pay ready bills, plus I need some doja |
| From doing shows, to kicking in do’s for feddy |
| Prefer a Glock, cause it ain’t heavy |
| I’m in the Dodge not the Cheve, cause I’m ready to ride tonight |
| Roll with tensions, I don’t need nobody eyes tonight |
| Because a snitch, is somebody that you dig a ditch for |
| When you do it alone, is when you get rich brah |
| Even when I’m on the block, I got my spot tied down |
| Any short stopping, they know I’m ready to ride down |
| Cause I need my money, ain’t no working for free |
| If it ain’t 25 hundred, don’t even bull with me |
| Cause I ain’t coming, unless I can get what I’m worth |
| Cause I be feeling like, I’m the rawest MC on this earth |
| I like to see the sunshine, and just roll on 84's |
| Let these boppers know the deal, they know that Southside gon hold |
| Gon hold, fa sho pockets gon fold |
| Screwed Up Click my family, and we done kicked in the do' |
| Z-Ro, King of the Ghetto stacking his feddy |
| Copping these dollar signs, so you busters ain’t ready |
| We cocked up in a Cheve, plus we pushing the clock |
| Benz on Lorenzos, sitting low in the drop |
| I won’t stop, because I’m too far gone |
| Corleone I’m a rider, till you come back home |
| Taking fo’s to the dome, Screwzoo sit on your throne |
| We still jamming your songs, thanking the Lord you was born |
| Because without you, it wouldn’t be no rapping |
| The only thing I could see, is my pistols a click-clacking |
| Click-clacking bad actor, nine packer |
| Reflecting this beam, for you petty ass jackers |
| We pop Cristal, in the memory of |
| And write songs, for the people we remember we love |
| Remember we thugs, this is for the Crips and the Bloods |
| Nobody cries when we die, only swishas and jugs |
| Ounces of bud, put up your mug it’s going down |
| Pop the trunk and show surround, the Dirty 3rd is where I’m found |
| One hundred percent realer, of the 7−90 taxing niggas |
| By mouth phones, I be faxing niggas |
| From the streets, you better ask them niggas |
| I got more toys in the trunk, than you action figures |
| They don’t come around, because we clap too much |
| And I don’t bar with lil' boys, cause they act too much |
| If you think about getting clips, and jacking us |
| Then you better think again, cause the gats’ll bust |
| Like Biggie Smalls say, I’m notorious |
| The way that we ball is so glorious, glorious |
| For change I spit game, you better believe |
| I’m letting my K sneeze, till you cease to breathe |
| Got a hunger for cheese, I’m all about my scratch |
| On fire like a match, it’s best you back-back |
| When this hammer track back, don’t mug this nigga wrong |
| Hollow tip bullets, put plugs in niggas domes |
| I ain’t stopping till you gone, I ain’t taking a loss |
| I’m a game spitter, certified Mafia boss |
| Go-getters with one hitters, that sting like a wasp |
| Necks be iced out, no matter the cost |
| A verbal Holocaust, I spit’s the real |
| For niggas that don’t know, this the deal |
| Stepped out entered the do', with thug appeal |
| Boys saying, this nigga must be a thug for real |
| Show nothing but skills, and I’m ready to throw down |
| It go down, I’m grooving now kicking the do' down |
| No time to slow down, I’m tearing this hoe down |
| But peel your niggas off, and I’m taking some mo' down |
| This a Southside showdown, recognize the name |
| Lyrics like hot flame, game recognize game stack paper |