Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Hot, artist - The Beatnuts. Album song Milk Me, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 30.08.2004
Record label: Rykodisc
Song language: English
Hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot |
Big Ju, nigga, the host with the Moses |
Find a nigga up with the dough, with the toasters |
Hoes say I keep it up like posters |
Slap the first nigga that plays me the closest |
Still drunk, still grabbing cloches |
Dark and sneaky like the rats and the roaches |
Careful in the way you cats approach us |
'Cause playa, you more out of shape than the coach is |
Junkyard nigga, collect yourself |
You’re letting that persona effect yourself |
That’s not enough armor to protect yourself |
If we catch you coming through the projects of Delph |
So be smart, duke and spread the wealth |
We’ve got cannons here, looking for a head to melt |
Hit you with 8 shots 'for the first one’s felt |
That’s how we do it around here situation dealt |
It’s the Indiana Jones, funky stone city, cabrones |
Names ring like cellular phones |
Look back, fall back, catch a heart attack |
'Cause there ain’t nothing in the world, the nuts will ever lack |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot |
I ain’t got time to be playin' games with the same jokers |
This wine don’t stop, baby I stay focused |
You’re whole gangsta’s bogus |
Your the type to draw a weapon, just to draw attention |
I pull your heart out, and leave you with your chest flaming |
With no special effects by Wes Craven |
This Psych Les reigning, tech and the mack spraying |
Duck, before you be on your back laying |
Know I’m saying? |
You asked for war |
I’ma take my gloves off and smack your jaw |
I just got back from tour, niggas running their mouth |
Like their gurillas took the guns in their mouth |
Now their not killas they not mad at me |
Now they just screaming, «Don't kill me, I have a family» |
It’s big psych I push it down like gravity |
And bring the pain to your brain like a cavity |
It’s the Indiana Jones, funky stone city, cabrones |
Names ring like cellular phones |
Look back, fall back, catch a heart attack |
'Cause there ain’t nothing in the world, the nuts will ever lack |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot |
Beatnuts rock on, rock on |
A Greg an' a, an' a, an' a, rock on, rock on |
Beatnuts rock on, rock on |
A Greg an' a, an' a, an' a, rock on, rock on |
Beatnuts rock on, rock on |
A Greg, an' a, an' a, an' a rock on, rock on |
Beatnuts rock on, rock on |
A Greg ana, ana, ana rock on, rock on |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot, hot |
This shit is so damn hot, hot |
This shit is hot, hot, hot |