Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Slang , by - T-Rock. Song from the album Rocksolid / 4:20, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 24.02.2003
Record label: Hypnotize Minds
Song language: English
Slang |
| I’m on an everlasting money mission, million dollar premenition |
| Got my own coalition, pack my own ammunition |
| 20's on the Lexus glisten, I’m driven to mob life |
| Hella niggas want me murdered, but can’t do the job right |
| Razor blades, Ak’s, and ask me do I carry them |
| Killin for a hobby like a medeival barbarian |
| Khen will the disaster stop? |
| Never, nigga pass the Glock |
| Illustrated killin live in color like its magnavox |
| Now I got em hot, from the plot to put the block on lock |
| Set up shop wit over 50, 000 dollars worth of rocks |
| Ammunition cocked, prepared to pop, Ill even shoot at cops |
| Stash away the heat and then retreat off in my drop top |
| Find yo own bizness, or the gat’ll make yo clock stop |
| 187 from the west and get yo fuckin block mopped |
| You gone have to tangle wit a Hypnotize, get suprised |
| Good for makin money off the shit to stay the fuck alive |
| Come smoke some herb wit me |
| Come flip a bird wit me |
| Step on the curb wit me |
| Come slang n serve wit me |
| I only fuck wit real niggas, all the haters can burn in hell |
| If you ain’t affiliated, dont come wit packs to sell |
| Object of this hustlin is bubbling stacks of mail |
| Situations turn sour, rivals’ll blast then bail |
| When I hit the block I’m seein J’s, drivin insane |
| Crunker than Montana wit some anna for ounces of caine |
| ATL niggas blowin brains, simple and plain |
| Sippin golden grain, makin stangs, inflictin the pain |
| Smokin, gettin into it, livin ruthless, the feds are clueless |
| We the ones who keep the city crunker than engine fluid |
| Hypnotize niggas ridin vettes, sippin moets |
| Strapped up wit a vest and giant tecs to lower the stress |
| 51 niggas got my back, so nevertheless |
| Ima get this anna off my chest and smoke on this cest |
| Puttin bitches on the track, when its a pimp in the flesh |
| Solid as a rock for advesaries who wishin to test |
| Repeat Chorus |
| My scandalous recipe make niggas be scared of me |
| If there has been treachery dont try to get next to me |
| Yo life is in jeopardy when fuckin wit family |
| We turn to psychotic crews and all of our insanity |
| Break bread off of greenery, releasin the steam in me |
| Keep me from the weapons, Ill be fuckin up the scenery |
| Deport bullets like immigrants, bitch niggas dont attempt to flinch |
| Money is the motive, let my sinning end the innocence |
| Ima let the missile rip, ballistic wit hollow tips |
| You won’t see me comin, keep yo fingers on the pistol grip |
| Smoke blindin my enemies, give em fearful tendencies |
| You can kiss they life goodbye when T-Rock hit the hennesey |
| I’m in it for the presidents, luxurious residence |
| Hooked up wit the camp, Ive been a mercerary ever since |
| Atlanta my stompin grounds, Old National’s where I’m found |
| Moving bricks, and fuckin tricks, and smokin reefer by the pounds!!! |
| ATL niggas (until fade) |