Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Keep Your Hands High, artist - Tracey Lee
Date of issue: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Keep Your Hands High |
Fuck that, I preach it, my nine reaches |
The prestigious cats who speak this Willie shit |
Flood in pieces, my hand releases snatches |
Smackin cabbage, half-ass rappers shouldn’t have it So I grab it, never run, the out come is usually |
a beat down brutally, fuck who you be or where you from |
West or East coast, squeeze toast leave most |
in the blood they layin in, ask Tray and them |
(Tracey Lee) |
Oh shit, I suppose its time to go snitch |
Flip a line and get the show lit |
You clown niggaz hold it Down your flow lax, just so you know that |
We could battle for days like old cats |
Black, you dealing with a throw back |
Winnin like straight jacks, with a wide range |
of rhyme teams, my lyrics they bang like migraines |
Nigga my name, Tray the terrible |
Philadelph, wild child incredible |
too sick for medical attention, people listen |
It’s verbal ascension, like Maxwell many dimensions |
Flood over tracks, well, mics in critical condition |
Killin ya Maxell, unveil lyrical skills unknown |
for my people with illegal cell phones |
A real MC let’s bring it back home |
Live from the two-one-five, that lost a back bone |
in charge, and heavily on like break fog |
You for saw it, nigga stay down |
Biggie make them hit the floor face down |
(Notorious B.I.G.) |
What, what, what, the rings and things you speak about |
bring em out, it’s hard to yell with my bat round |
in your mouth, its more than I expected |
I thought them jewels was rented, but they wasn’t |
So run it, cousin, I could chill the heat does it Ran up in your shell about a dozen, you never seen |
bank like Frank White, ya hand clutchin |
ya chest plate contemplates, bout to die nigga wait |
Keep ya hands high |
Chorus: repeat 2X |
You don’t wanna die, keep your hands high |
Ain’t no right or wrong in this game called survive |
So you know it’s Tray and B-I, G schemin on your cream |
Why try, keep ya hands high |
(Tracey Lee) |
Hey yo it’s show time, so I’ma blow nines into your spine |
So what’s yours is mine, you know what this is Bag the Benjamins with all ya riches |
How quickly, the milli turn Willies to bitches |
Controllin your fate, a hole in your plate |
Fuck the show dates, I want the whole state |
with squads harassin, all of y’all niggaz who flashin |
We doing this the Tray Lee way, delay |
Then nigga we spray, aint no ignoring us Me and Notorious |
(Notorious B.I.G.) |
I got a new mouth to feed, I’m due south with keys |
Y’all pick seeds out y’all weed, I watch cowards bleed |
Motherfucker please, it’s my block with my rocks |
Fuck the hip-hop, them one-two's and it don’t stop |
Me and my nigga Lance, took him and Cease in vans |
Bought ten bricks, four pounds of weed plants |
from Branson, now we lamp in, twelve room mansions |
Bitches get naked off Get Money, Playas Anthem |
Don’t forget One More Chance and, my other hits |
Other shit niggaz spit be counterfeit |
Robbing come naturally, in and out like fuckin rapidly |
Pass the gat to me Make his chest rest where his back should be Fuckin blasphemy, blast me, your family rest in coffins |
Often, Franquiza, far from soft or fragile, uh Play hard like Reggie Miller, rapper slash dope dealer |
slash guerilla, slash illest turn iller |
(Tracey Lee) |
So nigga keep ya hands high |
Run all your so called possessions, links with baguettes in Keys to your Lex, for us to make your shorties dressed in A full jack maneuver, dont no body move, just the moolah |
It’s RNF and Junior M.A.F., runnin through ya like Kahlua |
If rum sung then you fly, niggaz with the 45 |
but True Lies, but you brought out the real nigga in me Now I’ma cock the semi, watch you strip like Demi |