Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Creepin', artist - Z-Ro. Album song Tha Omega, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 05.02.2007
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Merge Entertainment
Song language: English
Creepin' |
Creeping, with the sawed off |
In a rage, bo’gaurd blowing niggas balls off |
I’m the reaper, touching fellas on they lifeline |
Ain’t no running to the trunk, I got my pistol right now |
Creeping with my automatic, running round |
Laying motherfuckers down, straight up causing havoc any day |
I done gone insane in the brain, motherfuckers in my face |
Claiming that I owe them something mayn, don’t let me catch no case |
I don’t really give a damn about nothing, but my Nina and my sawed off |
You can call me Deadly Head, cause I’m blowing they balls off |
Anybody bitch nigga don’t test me, move across your jaw like a jet ski |
Quick jab (opening up like), Big Sab aw naw |
Pulling a gun on all y’all, disrespect me and fall down |
This here my neck of the woods, where you gon go who you gon call now |
Military minded, I’s a motherfucking soldier |
And I don’t need nothing, but murder music and doja |
Right now I got the shit, that’ll blow your balls off |
And all this hating talking down, make a bitch wanna snatch your tongue out |
I’m creepin with the sawed off, creepin on hoes and careful what they tal’n bout |
I’m hitting the industry with tricks, magicians can’t figure out, uh-huh |
I’m from the South, I’m breaking these bitches off |
Making the news with headlines, she’s dangerous and she’s out |
In your tape deck, these motherfuckers been duty click and rest |
I’m touching hoes on they lifeline, now they can’t pass my check |
That’s why I’m creeping with my nigga, Z-Ro a dirt dirty killa |
You heard them guerillas, we hurt you to make you feel us |
Through all this fraud in you, you need to stay away |
Cause you don’t wanna fuck with Z-Ro and Cl’Che, when we ride now |
Ain’t no running to the trunk, I got my pistol on me |
Cause ain’t no telling when a bitch nigga, try to tun up on me |
I’m coming after your camp, me and my O.G. |
Darrel Burton |
Thirty odd beam on the drive card, that there gon have em hurting |
In need of medical attention, lifting up motherfuckers like I’m bench pressing |
Put everybody to bed, write S.U.C. |
on the wall and then I’m ditching |
Out the do', firing it up with B.J. and Fo' |
Nickel and D slide in the do', that nigga there my nigga heart Lil' Ro |
Picking me bitch I’m a real one, it’s gonna be hard to be takin me off the map |
Determine the real ones from the fake ones, by the way they give me dap |
Beg your pardon, if you didn’t know I’m a soldier |
Military minded, clicking with the sawed off murder music and doja |
Creeping deep, see how we rough in the Houston streets |
Me keep me sawed off, right next to me |
Watching a set of bitches, show they breasts to me |
With M.O.E., that be Money Over Everything |
Bet I could hit a home run, nigga let me swing |
Swinging wide, with me sawed off shotgun |
And when I pull it, that’s to show you that I got one |