Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Here Comes Another Hit , by - Warren G. Release date: 31.12.2000
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Universal Music
Song language: English
Here Comes Another Hit |
| Waiting around a crew of thugs |
| That parade in blue, and yelling cuz (whats up cuz) |
| Ate by selling drugs |
| '38 snub in the waist, in case fools lose love |
| These days still the same |
| I concealed the flame, eyes kill with the pain |
| So I advise y’all to chill with the games |
| Entertain for the cheddar and the change |
| So fuck whoever, in the fame, forever remain |
| Around my dogs, banging the pound, swanging the town |
| How we choose, now I’m aggravated and assault is my next move |
| Success means issues, so I guess it’s time for me to disclude |
| Handle mines, we use pistols |
| G’s move with the conscience |
| When we disapprove of that nonsense |
| Ex-cons with that gangsta gangsta gangsta shit |
| Here come another hit |
| I think it’s time we do it, they said it couldn’t be done |
| Still we making paper, still we having fun |
| I hope by now it’s proven, Nate and Warren G |
| Tightest combination, in the industry |
| Here comes another one |
| I can see us smashing up the shore past laws thats lost |
| 2000 Ucon Excel, duel exhaust |
| TV screen, DVD, E-mail |
| Passenger, bad female, what the hell |
| Stash spot, with the hollow head shell |
| Niggas start trippin, I’m on the next tail |
| Hands free, callin' up my nigga Warren G |
| I pull strings, like Meyer Lansky |
| Bulletproof, limo tint you can’t see |
| Mr. G rollin' up weed, afghany sensee |
| Bad MC, Mike Fiend, you the know spinage |
| Like winter green mint, talk shit |
| Sleep with the fish, you cement |
| New residence, with no hesitance |
| It gets tints on the floor |
| Staple center chick, next to Denzel and Nicholsen |
| Phil Jackson whistlin' |
| Mean mugs in the club, mean nothing to us |
| In South scene, me and the team trying to fuck us some sluts |
| Dying to fuck, I chuck us when we step through |
| Poppin' our collars, with our nephews |
| Next to you, you got millionaires moving |
| Hitting the dance floor, stealing their groovin' |
| Doing they damn thing, and ain’t worried about a damn thing |
| But man, thats the celebrity ways |
| Poppin' a litty got some rappers scared of these days |
| Industry ways, thats how Hollywood pays |
| Uh, top dollar when I dip my Impala |
| In front of the club, make your woman wanna holla (holla) |
| At a playa though, what’s your dude yo |
| I keep it gangsta, I ain’t trying to be rude ho |
| Oh, you know how that shit go |
| Or give when cats get fed off the four or fifths |