| Better watch your feddy mayn, better watch your back mayn
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| Better wear your vest to protect your chest, so protect your brain mayn
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| Better watch your slab mayn, better watch your gal mayn
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| Better watch your partna’s partnas, and some of they partnas mayn
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| I got a letter from the President yesterday, guess what he had to say
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| It seem like somebody, been talking a lot
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| Trying to pull the big guns out put em in they mouth, show em that we don’t
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| play boy
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| Round here we bleed the block syrup and pop rocks, hoes in the club jump around
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| and bunny hop
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| Presidential boys 187 it don’t stop, we can turn the lights out turn this bitch
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| out
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| I’m what you mo’fuckers been waiting for, like the messiah coming back for more
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| But this time I got the tools with, and my starters off the bench
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| And you know, we plan to run the score
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| Fuck y’all niggas that hate my niggas, you can get the dick and the nuts and
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| the trigga
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| Say it again, you can get a dick and a nuts and the trigga and a shank to the
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| liver
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| Dirty Southside Houston Texas, Hiram-Clarke and Ivas baby
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| Via 3rd Ward, 5th Ward, South Park, Trinity Gardens, Greenspoint and Poke Island
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| Look at all these playas around me, thug niggas hustlers ballers and G’s
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| My niggas in the hood with wood grain, stable Cadillacs make you fall to your
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| knees
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| My bitches in the club with love for young thugs, that love for young girls
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| That be fucking em in the club, will make twenties take em and make em aware
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| Introduce em, to the best of both worlds
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| Ain’t nothing wrong with going home with, two or three lil' mamas at three in
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| the morning
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| Waking up cooking eggs and yawning, dipping in the stash spots and do-do calling
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| Slow motion is how we tip, when we feeling the groove
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| Bust bout nine nuts last night, and still in the mood
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| Young ignant dude, never hesitating to make more than I already got
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| Don’t trip you already shot, might stand on the cutters when I flip in the drop
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| No probation’ll ever stop me, cause by God I’m blessed
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| Got mo' jacksons than Pesci, mo' grass than the Fertile Crescent
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| Stay on note, and stay receiving mo' Wayans than Keenan
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| The lyrical semen, born in the morning die in the evening
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| Already colder than colder, still a damn thang holder
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| Might uh come and clear out your block, like a wet up Iraqi soldier
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| Jay freed it and ery’thang, bling-bling on e’ry ring
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| Piece and chain hang down, to my god damn shoe strings
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| I’m with that Lyrical 1−8-siete, and the awesome vete
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| Deuce shooter cocking a nueve, and myself alvete
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| I’m el soldado, no problem when I pop collars all about dollars
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| Mo' violence in Impalas we be top notch scholars, leaning with rotweilers
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| breeded ballers
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| I think I’m losing my mind sometimes, laws hating rent pass due
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| And I can’t find no pine, right now I don’t mind dying
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| So I’m the worst cat to be around, get to tripping my hands twitching
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| Everytime I see a gun, (see a gun)
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| So ya better watch your feddy mayn, better watch your back mayn
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| Better be on note, cause these young folks is always strapped mayn
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| Better watch your feddy mayn, better watch your back mayn
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| Better be on note, cause these young folks pack K’s in Lacs mayn
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| Strapped and ready for drama, lil' mama think she got a fool for the dollar
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| I tell her bitch please, scream I could make you holla
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| If I pull up a semicon, and toss up a bottle of gin
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| Straight out the bar, and invite a few friends
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| Niggas that don’t mind dying, niggas don’t bar
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| Taking your life away, drinking the night away
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| Put the weed down, give the laws the right-away
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| Fuck you bitch niggas, did I say it the right way
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| Just might see me, rolling down the highway
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| Real country niggas, might call it a by-way
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| Sitting sideways, in a big-big body
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| Rolling solo, but I got my shotty
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| I don’t really, wanna hurt nobody
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| I’m lying, if it goes down I’m killing everybody
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| Then back to the H-Town, rolling up blunts
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| Puffing on the highway, bang in the trunk
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| Blazing the skunk, drank in the cup
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| Southside niggas, on purple stuff
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| I already know, you done heard enough
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| 1−8-7, quick to call your bluff
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| Them Presidential boys, banging it rough
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| Y’all know, y’all can’t fuck with us
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| Like banging a neon, into a bus
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| You ain’t know, that’s fucked up
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| You better make sure, your vest strapped up
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| You better make sure, that safety work
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| You better make sure, when the laws come
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| You don’t know that was, that put your nuts in the dirt
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| In the meanwhile, keep your head down
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| When I come around, keep your mouth closed till I’m gone
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| Better yet, move around bitch niggas
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| Cause I’m tried of talking bout y’all, in this song |
Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Betta Watch, artist - Z-Ro. Album song A Bad Azz Mix Tape, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп