| What’s happenin'?
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| Some of that old gangsta, leave a nigga in a ditch type shit, you know?
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| Yeah
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| We playas but we gangstas, too, nigga
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| Mac Dre and Young Web finna put it down in a real way
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| Check it out
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| Have a seat, grab a blunt, relax your back
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| I’mma about to kick some facts to make you feel that you’ve been jacked
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| I attack, at any cost, without no means
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| Packin' AP-9's, AK’s with infrared beams
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| It seems some kids up in this game need to be taught a lesson
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| Nigga, one suggestion: let’s call together a funk session
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| ‘Cause when I bust, I bring major pain
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| Keith Sweat would wanna cross out in my type of rain
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| Nigga, my lyrics is something make the others spread the reputation
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| I’m bustin' with a sensation that’ll leave you in devastation
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| Fry like bacon
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| This money I’m takin' to fill my pockets
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| Fools be tryin' to stop but I be blowin' up like rockets
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| Your arm sockets, legs and waist stay left
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| The only thing this nigga about to meet now is his death
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| The point I’m makin' potna is don’t test me ‘cause I’m packin' a .380
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| Muthafucka when times are shady
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| Yeah, Young Web, niggas ain’t knowin'
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| It can get real funky around here, you know?
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| So goddamn drastic after I hit a nigga with the plastic, right?
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| Nigga, I hung that fool off the Carquinez while that gun fell off me and I’m
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| sideways
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| Yeah, straight gangsta shit, nigga
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| I’m a skrilla getta, that’ll kill a nigga about grits
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| And I’m quick to trip and slip on my mitts
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| And put hands on a snake if I peep some scandal
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| Beat niggas up just like Frankie Randall
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| If I can’t handle, that ass from the shoulders
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| That’s when I dash and get the pistola
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| You didn’t know a playa had G shit in him?
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| Well, send a nigga at me, I’ll put three clips in him
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| So goddamn fast and won’t leave one clue
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| And be cryin' at the funeral just like you
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| I thought you knew, fool, when it comes to this
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| Gangsta type shit, niggas run from this
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| I got stripes, stars, bars and medals
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| For puttin' in work doin' dirt in the ghetto
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| I’m an O.G. |
| and a H-O-G
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| A muthafuckin' hog and they don’t wanna see
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| My vicious tactics ‘cause shit gets drastic
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| Leave ‘em bleedin' and blasted, ready for a casket
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| I’m real with it, and love to ill with it
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| You trippin' off Mac Dre? |
| Then potna let’s deal with it
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| The 707 North Bay soldier
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| I thought you knew? |
| I know somebody told ya
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| Yeah, I know somebody told yo' punk ass
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| Never no Cutt will lie when the drama flies
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| Just gon' be homicides ‘cause we makin' some mamas cry, you know?
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| So go get your black dress, bitch, yeah
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| Because we flowamatic when countin' C-notes, sucka
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| Gettin' skrilla
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| These muthafuckas best’a recognize that I be packin' the ammo
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| Like Commando, then I’ll light yo' ass like a candle
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| But I’m Rambo, up on a mission up in the jungle
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| To knock down a couple of stables and get ‘em for they bundle
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| I made ‘em crumble, from the parts that I pack
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| Bustin' with M-16, Calicoes and Macs
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| Automatic gats, that’s what I use to kill all gangs
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| They send in Web ‘cause he’s trained, when I’m let loose, I’m insane
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| There’s blood stains, ‘cause I was blowin' up shit from the start
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| I takes my steps, was smellin' death and lookin' at body parts Does this sparks
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| But I’m the only nigga that lasts
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| Puttin' body parts up in caskets and burn ‘em all down to ash
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| Stupid ass bastards
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| What you tried to do was unforgettable
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| Your gun’s quiz was death and it wasn’t even that damn difficult
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| Nigga, tryna send your damn lady
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| Web and Dre be packin' .380s when times are shady
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| Yeah, when times are shady it goes down
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| I got my pen foul, the crowd’s runnin' wild ‘cause the guns *pow*
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| It’s the AP with the 50-clip and these fools can’t get with me
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| Young Web causin' fatalities, nigga, when it gets drippy
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| Shitty committee, sucka
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| My style is foul, I break laws, never legal
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| Glued to the track strapped with my Desert Eagle
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| Servin' them suckas, a muthafucka start drama
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| I might let him live but bust a cap in his mama
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| Yeah I’m a playa, playa, but playas play with bitches
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| When it come to them trick snitches my trigger finger itches
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| Ready to peel a cap off a punk ass, drunk ass |
| Nigga startin' static, take his life and his punk ass
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| Dre is a killa, drug dealer, ex-convict
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| Suckas say I’m sick, some drop dimes quick
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| ‘Cause I’m an ill nigga and ill niggas kill niggas
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| Who alert the 5−0 and the money gettin' real, nigga
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| Takin' out cousins, even steppin' to nieces
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| Send ‘em to the grave now they restin' in pieces
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| I’m 5150, a stone cold J-cat
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| Jackin' muthafuckas so my pockets they stay fat
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| Rappin' ain’t shit but a slow grind, so I’m
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| Hittin' licks quick gettin' rich in no time
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| Ask about my work and they say ‘He gets green
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| Runnin' up in shit with his AR-15'
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| The Mac named Dre is a big fool, sick fool
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| And if you ain’t down then suck my dick, fool
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| I don’t give a fuck about a nigga or bitch too
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| I run with a big crew, and yeah, they sick too
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| Ha ha ha ha, yeah
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| Y’all put that down
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| Let them suckas know how it go in that big Bay Area
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| Pimps, playas, rhyme-sayers, gangstas and big bankstas
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| Suckas, stay back, ‘cause you know we stay strapped
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| Yeah, this is Young Web comin' at that ass for the 9-muthafuckin-6
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| This is for all the muthafuckin' Crestsiders, the real riders
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| To my muthafuckin' cuddie Young Nico
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| That’s right, that Rompalation, this D-Con, fool
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| And that shit is hoodrat party for your mind, nigga
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| Yeah, can’t fuck with this… or get enough of this
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| 1996 punk bitch
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| Mac muthafuckin' Dre is back through here, tearin' shit up
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| Lettin' them suckas have it
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| Fuckin' aliens |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Shady Times , by - Web. Song from the album Mac Dre Presents the Rompalation, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп