| We out in this… P and Game, we’ll blow that bitch up
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| From the world’s most infamous, 1st Infantry
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| (Alchemist, this shit raw like fresh beef playa
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| We boyz in da hood… wanna see a dead body)
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| Sittin' in a lowrider, murda on my mind
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| 'Cause I had too many dead homies in my lifetime
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| That’s why I ride wit a nine and dem hollow tips
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| Lift niggas like a chrome hydraulic switch
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| Wit a hood rat in the car that swallow dicks
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| So good that I got P on that six-four Impala shit
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| She from Compton just like me
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| Caramel wit extensions just like Eve
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| She want to go to a Knicks game, sit next to Spike Lee
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| Well do the right thing, blow a nigga out his Nikes
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| She married to The Game, that’s wifey
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| Ask Gotti get them blood stains out your white tee
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| P in the backseat finger fuckin' her girlfriend
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| That’ll put a golf ball hole in your right cheek
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| Start trippin' over colors like Ice-T
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| And you can watch your life slip away through an I. V
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| We out in Cali, P and Game straight blow that bitch up
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| We out in New York, P and Game we blow that bitch up
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| You can’t stop us, we gettin' this money its not bangin'
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| You can’t pull that shit this way, we head bangin'
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| Wit dem Glocks and dem oo-ops
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| Me and my fools shoot, wutchu tryin' do that
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| I suggest you do not
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| My chain is hot, what’s more hot than that
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| That’s how I murda music, that’s why your broads on my back
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| Got two birds on my shoulders, they all over me
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| And ready to fuck Game and whoever else roll wit me
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| My presence is strong, I have a bitch seein' dollar
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| Signs spots stare at me too long
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| Have you seein' that white light you come at me wrong
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| Or any one of my dawgs, I’ll be settin' it off
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| You was raised on beef and live real drama
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| Don’t let the coupes twist you, we lettin' o’s off
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| We out in this… P and Game, we’ll blow that bitch up
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| (P and Game rollin' the Dutch)
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| P and Game, we’ll blow that bitch up, mixed with the A L see
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| NYC to LA we do our sweep
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| We out in Compton, P and Game lacin' Chucks
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| We out in QB, P and Game rollin' a Dutch
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| Dumpin' ashes out the windshield
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| Haze got my head spinnin like dem 24 inch wheels
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| Ridin' to Suga Hill bangin' shook ones
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| On the westside highway, hand on the steel
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| If I like your chain then blood spill
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| 'Cause I ain’t getta million dollars when I signed my deal
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| Nigga I’ll tie your wife to a chair and blow that bitch up
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| You better fire proof your crib, I’ll blow that shit up
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| I’m all about this crime shit for real, this rap shit is luck
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| Try to score points on me, I’ll fasten you up
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| In that smelly proof bag, real real fast
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| Shoot the deuce under my arm, I’m real real slick
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| Can’t put a tail on me, I drive too fast
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| Can’t put tag on me, I smoke people ass
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| If you from the westside, nigga throw that shit up
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| If you bang to eastside, nigga throw that shit up
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| I ain’t tryna be in The Source or Double X L
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| I’m just tryna fuck Trina 'cause Dre said sex sells
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| And it was either this or jail
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| Imagine tryna fit birds in a Honda Accel
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| And they caught up on the Fed Ex mail
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| So we stopped doin' business and chirpin' on Nextels
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| We gangstas
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| I fold people in half, I tore people ass
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| But they still want to ride out as long as we see death
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| I get money, and I don’t need your help or friendship
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| But love, I’ma survive just how I been
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| I’ma stay alive till the day I die
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| But right now I’m healthy, niggas betta get up off my
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| A bitch is nuttin' we easily fuck it
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| And we possessed by the cash and these guns we bustin'… |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Dead Bodies, artist - The Alchemist. Album song 1st Infantry, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп