Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Love It , by - Z-Ro. Song from the album Angel Dust, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 01.10.2012
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: Rap-A-Lot
Song language: English
Love It |
| You can’t assassinate my character, unless you bring them big guns |
| May have made a mockery of men before me, but not this one |
| It’s gon' stop here, murder 24/7 around the clock here |
| Dropping music is cool, but I’ma make a body drop here |
| Stupid don’t bring a Glock here, better bring a bazooka |
| Cause lil' chil’ren ain’t coming out to play, they coming to shoot ya |
| This is where I’m from, even the dope fiends’ll touch ya |
| I represent Missouri City, now how could I be a buster |
| Even when it’s a sunny day, I rain on parades |
| An angel of death in bulgari glasses, and a taper fade |
| Dickie top Dickie bottom, and some house shoes |
| This is what I’m wearing, when I’m coming to bring the woman up out you |
| I’m making me a list, and I’m checking it twice |
| With my AK, plus the banana clip I’m Santa tonight |
| But when I’m coming down your chimney, ain’t dropping off I’m taking |
| Bet I make more than the news, this is history in the making |
| I’ma walk it like I talk it, whether private or in public mayn |
| My life is my bidness, if you ain’t God you can’t touch it mayne |
| I ain’t worried about being a underdog, I love it mayn |
| My attitude is fuck it, and motherfuckers love it |
| I’m nothing else but a G pedigree, bulldog gutter breed |
| Ridgemont M.O.C., till them hoes cover Flea |
| 23's in the T black, if I’m looking for my enemies strapped |
| You fin to see a jack |
| A trap for a rat, a corner for this crack |
| Dope fiends we in a act, so paper I’m fin to stack |
| You looking for them real O.G.'s, my niggas that |
| Cause real G’s stay low key, and roll strapped |
| Street on the map, the heat in my lap |
| If you move I’ma snap, blow you smooth on your back |
| My dogs don’t play by rules, you do the math |
| I keep it one hundred, for niggas that can’t add |
| Your present is your past, you niggas done forgot where you came from |
| And I ain’t gon', help you find your way back |
| I call it like I see it, on some real shit |
| And I can tell you what it is, cause I live this nigga |
| I remember when the radio station, didn’t wanna play me |
| Now every Thursday through Saturday, somebody club pay me |
| They telling J. Prince, I don’t handle my bidness and I’m lazy |
| Twenty albums in nine years, they smoking and they crazy |
| I’m charging ten thousand a show, that’s 120 a month |
| Well over one million every 3−65, yeah that’s what’s up |
| I’m claiming King of the Ghetto Entertainment, cause I’m down with me |
| When I die, that’s the label I’m taking in the ground with me |
| I keep them automatic rounds with me |
| I don’t need security, I hope somebody get out of line and clown with me |
| You don’t wanna see me, with my forehead bald up |
| Cause that’s when the police, and ambulances get called up |
| Let it be somebody I never met, even a relative |
| Forgive me for sinning Jesus, you know I ain’t gon' let em live |
| Asshole, I’m the walking definition of it |
| Cause my attitude is fuck it, and motherfuckers love it bitch |
| (*talking*) |
| Haha, King of the Ghetto Entertainment |
| Slash Rap-A-Lot Records, Z-Ro the Crooked |
| Z-Ro the motherfucking Mo City Don |
| And I’m fucking with my hood nigga, Lil' Flea |
| The boss dog, he representing Street motherfucking Military |
| That’s right nigga, free Pharaoh nigga |
| R.I.P. |
| Butterboy huh |