Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Southside (Chopped & Screwed), artist - Z-Ro. Album song Tha Omega, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.02.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Merge Entertainment
Song language: English
Southside (Chopped & Screwed) |
What uh, Southside for li' |
What, H-Town baby come on |
Watch me come through, tal’n bout what it do |
Hop out who-do, trunk knock with that Screw |
Ain’t nothing changed, see I’m still true blue |
Hit my licks, but I keep em on the cool huh |
I’m a damn fool huh, KMJ the crew |
Already heavy like a Cheve, bout the feddy |
On scrill break limits, shred rappers like confeddi |
Grip the damn grain, pinky ring keep it steady |
I’m the body rocker, represent the Southside |
Even when I’m high, keep that money on my mind |
So I grind, T on my side we gotta shine |
Hoes gon mind, cause they know the ice blind |
All the time, see I gotta wreck |
Cash a damn check, keep my shit up in your deck |
The architect designer, hustler slash rhymer |
Candy paint niggas, I’m the base like primer |
What big timer, Big Mello |
Big thang nigga, stack big pesos |
Me and Z-Ro, J and Geno |
On the Q track, keep the flow so thoed |
I’ma body rock ya, from your head to your toe |
Boys can’t see, Mello and Z-Ro |
Only at the show, late night video |
Hiram-Clarke/Mo City, what Mafioso |
Ridgemont 4 representer, niggas wonder where I went |
Bending corners in a Intrepid, fo' do' behind tint |
Making stacks upon stacks upon stacks, of B. Franklin |
Anybody running up on KMJ, will be stanking |
I might be shermed out, I might be smoking on that drizzo |
Anyway it go, I’m still gon put a tag on your big toe |
Ask Eugene, we killers with automatic machine |
Knocking over walls when we crawl, keeping our mug on mean |
If you got a sensitive side, get up out my ride |
Cause it’s sho to be some pistol play, probably homicide |
If you’s a snitch nigga bitch nigga, I’m digging your ditch |
Giving out dome calls, leaving everybody wigless |
I’m gonna, give a nigga a headstone |
Cause I’m after my paper, mama say go get it even though she dead and gone |
Smoke and dranking with alphabets, to tighten my lip |
With a dirty gar beam for busters, hitting em right in they hip |
I’m a guerilla, do anything it take to make scrilla |
Even if one of my own gotta fall, fuck y’all niggas |
I’m one of a kind, and ain’t no bitch got my mind |
I don’t need a relationship, as long as I got my nine |
Tell me the truth, why do these cats be thinking that they could be fucking |
with us |
Really though I don’t know, but they don’t wanna be running with us |
I’m out that Southsi' for li', for li' until I die |
KMJ coming up out of the storm, for real that ain’t no lie |
With Dougie D and Z-Ro, we making a pay to break bread |
If somebody fucking with Big Mello, my slug hit em in they head |
Ain’t no disrespecting my team, or my team’ll get aggravated |
All you mark ass motherfuckers better duck, or you infiltrated |
See I’m a Dirty South talker, philly blunt sparker |
Telling hoes to come on down, like Bob Barker |
Never been a stalker, man fuck a bitch |
All a bitch can do for a pimp, is make me rich |
Hit the switch in a mothership, with bump in the trunk |
I ain’t tripping on no haters, I got that pump in the trunk |
And I’m ready to dump, up on a bitch ass nigga |
Cause ain’t no Blood’n or Crip’n, cause we from Texas nigga |
Shit we all about, our cash flow |
Don’t play no games, or you’ll end up with a tag up on your big toe |
It’s that nigga Mello, and that nigga Ghetto |
Coming through your backdo', bitch what they hitting fo' |
Some playas, down here |
Don’t bring your girl, cause we hot pussy slayers down here |
Done hooked up with my nigga Daz Dili', from the motherfucking West |
Burning holes in you niggas chest, like you was smoking on some stress |
Or that bomb-bomb, nigga from Vietnam |
Nigga ring the motherfucking alarm, cause it’s on |
I got my nigga JJ, in a zone |
Nigga motherfucker, tell that bitch to bring it on |
I don’t know why, niggas wanna try but try |
But the only think I know, that your niggas’ll die |
If they fucking, with the KMJ click |
If you don’t like it, get up off the Southside dick bitch |
If you wonder where I’m at, this guerilla at |
I’m shining in your face, if you haven’t seen me yet |
I’m a Southsi' for li', hot girl |
Rocking with the Big Mello, and the Crooked Z-Ro |
Quick to break the hoes, off |
While we dropping tops, we got you dropping your mouth |
Cl’Che representing for the South, the Dirty South |
Ask that Q, these haters put em in line |
Big Mello above the Cl', Z-Ro on the side of Cl' |
So I’m telling you, ain’t none of that getting close to Cl' |
I play with big boys, that move them big thangs |
C.D.'s and LP’s, so we can get a bigger name |
KMJ, we gon stick to your brain like cement |
Glass get em Monroe, we flyer than bird shit |
It’s me, now tell me what you see |
A list mouth motherfucker, with a cold mouthpiece |
R.I.P. |
to my G’s and chicks, we still swanging them do’s |
Candy riding on 4's, and niggas polishing they golds |
Down here, Southsi' for li' |
Houston Texas, just to make it all clear |