| I’m goin' all way out bout mine
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| Best dat a bitch get shot bout mine
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| Hoes get slapped in the mouth bout mine
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| The prices stay the same and they drop bout mine
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| (Verse 1, Money Mark)
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| You fucks with T Double D then you fucks with we
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| Now you runnin' round duckin' me
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| Young nigga with a AK better than Ananda Lee
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| I send them killers where ya mama be
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| I be Money M to the izzay, R to the kizzay
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| Come through choppin' ya block I don’t plizzay
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| Got dolo for the low, then hit the 2 Way
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| Peace to Uncle Lisle I miss him everyday, hey
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| Love dough and love to hate hoes
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| Love to pull nigga bout mine lil' nose
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| Nigga tryna hold me back, I’m throwin' 'bows
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| I’m a treal ass nigga, that’s how shit goes
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| (Rick Ross)
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| You can never fuck with me, I’ll just flow harder
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| CL 6 sittin' low on those (?)
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| I’m a Philly man, but I don’t blow garbage
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| Got sweet dick, most of these hoes got it
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| Ain’t no love, you see how the Feds do us
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| Wanna eat like rust and some for tear Lucas
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| Haul that blunt to a nigga share mucas
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| Body on 'em so what, look up we had shooters
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| (?) Take all tinted route
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| Hand guns, razor blades comin' out of the mouth
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| Borderline rapper, come see me but twin 49 rapper
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| It’s more to mine rapper
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| Saw that rhyme after, yeah, got the right gat
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| Eat with the 2 Way they scared to write back
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| Lay niggas down like this? |
| No like 'dat
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| No whoever ran, make 'em come back like crack
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| (Duece Poppi)
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| You better worry bout you, don’t worry bout me
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| I pop three, out the drop-e
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| I smoke brocoli, you know we got D
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| Duece Poppi and T Double D
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| We got them AK shells and they hot as hell
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| Crackin' back to the white meat like lobster tails
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| Poppin shells, quick to crack your breastbone
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| Tore his head off 'cause he had his vest on
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| 12 gauge, shoot ten times for haters
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| Niggas curlin' up like activators
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| Fake ass thugs, stop with them lies
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| You ain’t rapped like that when 2Pac was alive
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| (Hook x2)
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| (Verse 2, Mystic)
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| I’m not gonna fuck with you nigga, 'cause I don’t know you my nigga
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| So don’t you fuck with me or my dogs
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| Nigga I’m for real about mine, and my dogs ready to kill bout mine
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| I chill, smoke crip and send orders
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| Off all those po-po's and armed forces, fuck 'em
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| They don’t wanna see me fly, I don’t trust 'em
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| They probably wanna see me die, that why
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| Hold the fire, and keep it closed and keep an open eye
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| For them haters and hoes, 'cause I don’t play about mine
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| Goin' deep, pray about mine
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| Know baby had to spray about mine, AK about mine
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| Fuck that you’ve been warned too many times
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| How you feel bout yours, nigga I’m ten times worse
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| You gettin' revenge but nigga mine will get you cursed
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| So please don’t fuck around with me
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| 'Cause my dogs will bust around at he
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| Whoever obsessed, me boy, don’t test me boy
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| Touch me, my dog’ll wetcha boy
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| (Trick Daddy)
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| Most niggas get rich, get goats
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| I went out and got guns, united my folks (my folks)
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| Pour it out for the ones we lost, now bitch
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| Throw it up 'fore I blow it up
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| You ain’t know I was a G muthafucka
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| You don’t really wanna see me muthafucka
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| I’m a thug nigga, fo' life
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| Bitch I’ll kill ya, fo' night
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| I’m goin' all way out bout mine
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| Best in a biscuit shot bout mine
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| Hoes get slapped in the mouth bout mine
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| Prices stay the same and they drop bout mine
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| Runnin' in your grandmami house bout mine
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| I ain’t slippin', I got my nine
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| Plus Duece got his, you better think twice bitch 'cause you got kids
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| Plus, I know what you did, add that to the fact I know where you live
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| Thug life and you know how it is
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| Shit don’t stop till a nigga get killed (killed, killed, killed, get killed)
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| (Hook x2) |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Bout Mine , by - Trick Daddy. Song from the album Thug Holiday, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп