Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Flatline , by - Young Chris. Release date: 18.07.2009
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Flatline |
| Yeah! |
| I don’t gotta care or fear |
| Cause ain’t nothing but artillery over here |
| For you wanna-be thugs, killing me with your stares |
| Stare at this, matter-fact here, disappear |
| Go getta! |
| Cause niggas will set up they whole life in wait |
| Turn into these internet gangsters that’s typing hate |
| Music, movies all type of cake |
| .9s, Uzis I got Sniper cake |
| PLK! |
| Yeah! |
| I don’t gotta care or fear |
| Cause ain’t nothing but artillery over here |
| For you wanna-be thugs, killing me with your stares |
| Stare at this, matter-fact here, disappear |
| Ayo pull that back, man! |
| Ayo play that again man, you know what I’m sayin'? |
| PLK! |
| Yeah! |
| I don’t gotta care or fear |
| Cause ain’t nothing but artillery over here |
| For you wanna-be thugs, killing me with your stares |
| Stare at this, matter-fact here, disappear |
| Go getta! |
| Cause niggas will set up they whole life in wait |
| Turn into these internet gangsters that’s typing hate |
| Music, movies all type of cake |
| .9s, Uzis I got Sniper cake |
| I had it hard, now my life is straight vehicle without the plate niggas don’t |
| hear you when you out the state |
| When you’re local, you’re easy to locate |
| Believe me, the game need me, it’s so fake! |
| Just cause he good with numbers don’t mean he slangin' and |
| Every nigga' wearing Bandannas ain’t bangin' |
| Paper weight got my pants hanging and |
| I got my belt on money just that long |
| Niggas change, see you then their hearts ain’t good |
| My whip grain! |
| Money only knock on wood |
| Keep it on ya! |
| Ain’t no time to pop no hood |
| I know this, cause I grew up where the pot roll good |
| I’m in the streets loving the money that keep coming |
| King magazine onion, Jeans hugging |
| Niggas mean mugging, cause my 16s buzzin' |
| It’s hard! |
| — They want whip creme from him. |
| Pound for pound he can’t fuck with son |
| And I’m good all by myself, they can’t jump the gun |
| You got heat where’s it coming from? |
| Cause you in the drop 'til the summer done, |
| you don’t really Fuck with them! |
| Cause I give a fuck with wings on it |
| And walk around with shirts with the strings on it |
| Ain’t nobody stoppin' Banks! |
| I put my rings on it |
| Kitchen sink on it my lady and I’m mink on it |
| Drink on it! |
| — No snoring, I got the burner black |
| I ain’t scared of none of you muhfuckers, Bernie Mac |
| Can I bring New York back, the Coke turn to Crack |
| Probably do the same shit over if I can turn it back |
| Slides don’t matter, I’ll pop a leg out a quarter back |
| 7 foot sen (d) 'em, sumo wrestler and all of that |
| Pussies get drowned, drink water from where the toilet at |
| Bitch niggas down and last, all for a pack |
| Matter of fact, we losing 'em, give that boy a smack |
| A hit from a shot lick couldn’t revive balling rap |
| I’ll send niggas to the store and back Diddy shit |
| Grown ass man not the one to get silly with |
| Broads love me! |
| I’m fresh fly, really slick |
| And I got game so she gone give up the kitty quick! |
| You can’t blame her, I’m the biggest pick around |
| She ain’t want me back in the day, but shit is different now! |
| You know I’m a digg her down. |
| Fuck it, I get you one twice |
| The only one that could huh, dumb nice! |
| Officer ask me if I’m color blinds, I run lights! |
| Then it’s to the interstate, top gun pipe! |