| Oh, come on, fuck with your boy
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| It’s Santana, Heatmakers, where we at?
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| Let me see you through this
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| Killa, Jones, Freakay
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| Yeah man, I’m back at it Today’s a new day, got the boo-lay up in the suitcase
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| Go uptown to Harlem, tell 'em that I sent ya Tell 'em it’s August, I’m «Gon'Til'November»
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| I need a couple birds, get a broad, have 'em sent up Call my bird, get my broad have her sent up (Please)
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| Call my niggaz, call my squad, have 'em sent up (Please)
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| I see a town I’m likin'
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| See some niggas getting money in a town I like it I run up on them with the pound and light it Like it’s my block now, all right kid?
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| He understood me quite clear
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| Then that thing banged out, ranged out the side of his right ear
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| And I got back to my business, back to my bitches
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| Back to the kitchen, that pyrex vision
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| Pop, I let that white stuff sit in Get hard, get rock, get to the block and pitchin'
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| Yeah I’m sorry but this is how I’m livin
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| And this is how I’m getting, fuck how I get it Hey!
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| I stood alone watching the wall, in the zone, hand on my handles
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| Listening to gangsta music
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| I stood at home hand on a chrome, with a zone, flippin’the channels
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| Watching how the gangstas do it
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| I stood alone, getting dome, from a thick chick in sandles
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| Watching Shaft, clocking math
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| Now I see death around the corner
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| Gotta stay high, will I survive in the city where the skinny niggas die?
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| Nope, it’s the city where the skinny niggas ride
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| .45 semi on the side, twisting when they drive, yeah
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| Lick a shot for Big Pop and 'Pac, yeah
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| One more for Shyne locked inside, yeah
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| Two more for Cam, for taking over the Roc
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| Yeah, yeah, it’s my year
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| So, okay, okay, okay, y’all can’t fuck with me, no way
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| Jose or Hector Camacho
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| Tech blows and watch yo’chest close and tacos
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| Motherfucker I’m the best, I told y’all before
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| I should y’all before, ey!
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| I stood alone watching the wall, in the zone, hand on my handles
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| Listening to gangsta music
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| I stood at home hand on a chrome, with a zone, flippin’the channels
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| Watching how the gangstas do it
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| I stood alone, getting dome, from a thick chick in sandles
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| Watching Shaft, clocking math
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| I’m on the westside of Chicago, lookin’for a bust down
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| And make me put my two arms up, Touchdown!
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| You stay in touch now, but when I tough down
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| I’m like Buckshot shorty, you better «Duck Down»
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| Yeah I must clown, I’m from Harlem, Uptown
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| Where we flash money, take your bitch and ask you, what now?
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| Birds flip a dozen, chicks is dicks they suckin'
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| Swallow my kids, go and kiss they cousin
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| Yes, they kissing cousins, toys kissing muppets
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| Worst then that, they go home and kiss they husband
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| That shit’s disgusting
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| Keep the chickens clucking, keep the pigeons buggin'
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| This on my wrist is nothing
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| To me it’s just yellow hearts and pink diamonds
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| Where I get the money for this? |
| Don’t think rhymin'
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| You fucking with Pablo, Bravo, Mario Via Bolo ho, Ta-to
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| I stood alone watching the wall, in the zone, hand on my handles
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| Listening to gangsta music
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| I stood at home hand on a chrome, with a zone, flippin’the channels
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| Watching how the gangstas do it
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| I stood alone, getting dome, from a thick chick in sandles
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| Watching Shaft, clocking math |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Gangsta , by - The Diplomats. Song from the album Cam'Ron Presents The Diplomats - Diplomatic Immunity, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп