Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song D Block To Qb, artist - The Alchemist. Album song 1st Infantry Instrumentals, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 07.11.2005
Record label: Koch
Song language: English
D Block To Qb |
«It's the Ryders and the Mobb» |
«Yo Alchemist, drop that new shit for 'em right fast» |
This is it homie, we gon' go with this one right here |
«It's the Ryders and the Mobb» |
Aiyyo, I’m never empty-handed, understand dunn? |
I keep a fistful of cash, the other on some ass son |
Smack the shit out niggas like handball, or I give 'em a fair one |
They ain’t gon' do nothin I dare 'em |
I hear 'em, «He a gangsta, he don’t take crap |
Until I point this cali' at him, tell him take that» |
In fact, I’m about to blow but that you already know |
Shit I just strap holdin cracks just a minute ago |
Now I’m in a Jag with a rag and the tints is low |
And you mad cause you a fag and your chick’s a ho |
Yeah she been around more than any bitch I know |
You should be glad though, I taught her everything she knows |
Whatchu reachin fo'? |
What I done touched a nerve? |
You wanna hurt somethin now you know I’m fuckin your bird? |
Cause that’s my word, front like you want a war |
And homie we can settle the score, whatchu waitin for? |
Yo, I’m the Tracy McGrady of the shit, I take you right to a hole |
Shove the tip of the nose of the silencer right in your nose |
Y’all niggas is degenerates |
It don’t make sense to do business with a nigga, if you ain’t gon' benefit |
Fuck a Bentley and a jet, I’m gutter nigga check it |
All I need is two-point-five and a couple Intrepids |
It’s drama, I ain’t starin you down |
I’mma clap ya forehead and dump you on one of them merry-go-rounds |
We put the packs of crack in the streets to get you a stack |
It’s been acid since they made the first box of Cracker Jacks |
Beat in the staircase purple’d out, rollin a phat |
Bottle of 'gnac next to me, on my lap is the mac |
These slugs hit you they takin your arms |
D-Block got the kind of weapons that Bush, tried to take from Saddam |
From Y-O, to your hood, to QB |
Catch me thuggin it out shootin dice twistin up a O-Z |
Y’all faggots don’t know me, it’s no remorse |
When hollows rip through your corpse |
Homicide’ll find you dead on your porch |
«It's the Ryders and the Mobb» |
That’s what I’m talkin 'bout, yo, yeah… |
Like white on rice, I’ll be on you, you couldn’t even shake me off |
Be in your chest like a smoker’s cough |
Put the hammer in your mouth and have you suckin it off |
Like a ho tryin to stop 'fore she find the law |
You in the club, you’s a thug, why you playin the door? |
Like you know somethin I don’t playa then put me on |
You cowards so nervous, I got broads that’ll get it on |
With any fella and think before they talk |
Mine like a nigga on the road takin his last walk |
And when I come niggas kiss they cross |
You know you done fucked up now |
Niggas talkin just to be talkin, ain’t nothin sweet but the pound |
Repeatly vow, they never go against the grain |
Know I been doin it, since a little stain |
Pull a hammer, move you right out the lane |
Niggas talkin out they ass like you just sniffed 'caine |
My niggas live life with a death wish |
Smoke for breakfast, a lot of people hope that I’m breathless |
Wanna send my ghost to the essence |
Go head nigga, I don’t care I heard the light was fluorescent |
Niggas count they ones but never they blessings |
'Til they at the wrong end out of the Wesson |
D-Block five star general |
Die Hard like Bruce Willis nigga, I could put a end to you |
Ruff Ryder soldier, cold as Antarctica |
I’ma make the plans to pick your man’s daughter up |
Big.45 in the sweats of my Nautica |
Fifty-five bricks when I’m tryin to pick my order up |
All my niggas flow, nobody watered up |
Shoot 'til the gun empty, then niggas sort it up |
Anytime P in the booth, nigga record it up |
G-host toast, I kill niggas when the quarter’s up |