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letra de 6 figure - b.g. (baby gangsta)

[b.g.]
it’s me, the b.g., doin’ my thang
lettin’ ’em hang, i represent bangity-bang
i gettin’ off into sh-t you can not handle
i’m settin’ it off in this b-tch, thinkin’ of scandals
’bout my paper, 5 figures and up with the red beam
dealers and thugs on my team with many 14’s
hittin’ your home up, hittin’ at everything movin’
lookin’ and losin’, startin’ chaos and confusion
i’m bruisin’ your whole family, dress ’em up in dark colors
then come to your funeral in two hummers
that’s me, baby gangsta, spark in the day
come out the funeral home, you get hit at walkin’ away
i’m in to grow, legend with rights, i don’t been enticed
to greab the k and let it spray, put an end to a n-gga life
my n-gga td gettin’ high wit’ me
out that 13, straped up he ride or die wit’ me
i was in the ‘nolia, lookin’ for that k!lla guerilla
i know my n-gga gangsta got it on wild willa
uptown consist of drug dealers, and thugs
for the junkies got no love
it’s like this, play p-ssy you catch a slug
drug though the mud, once it’s dead it’s done
hand on my gun cause i don’t give a m-th-f-ck
i’m a head buh-uh-busta, i never truh-uh-trust a b-tch
make sure i gotta silent 4-5, if this n-gga snitch
get me in the fix, and i can’t snitch out the mix
just gimme tree lives, double them so i got six
ain’t that some sh-t, wanna see me -ssed outta luck
bet i ain’t trippin’, cause i don’t give a m-th-tf-ck

[lil’ wayne]
i be catchin’ a n-gga corner, rippin’ through a n-gga street
hot boys they ride with me, like a preist, five deep
windows tinted, clips extened, drum lettin’
bustin’ lead ‘n, real ‘n, hot boy$ don’t forget it
leave every porch wet ‘n, brains all over the step ‘n
disrespectin’ the whole neighborhood block wettin’
step in, the section, uh-of the hot boy$
full of the ‘dro, and ride and chop you whole spot boy
better watch boy, where you be at cause i’m a hit at, three flat
you want beef, i’mma beef at, make it hot, i’mma crease that
camoflauge to the ‘boks, pop off clips in the glocks
make sure all choppers c-cked, start a quake, shake the whole block
take the tip of the jo, kick down the front door
run from front to back bustin’, terry cut his wife throat
i’mma play it how it go, hold a black connect sho’
we went to school for this, we spend bins like a pro
go chill with the joe, say wodie let’s get loaded
blow a pound with my round, 50 shot’ll get me toted
i’mma wet your bin, hit your house, unlock ten
boy you can’t win i let chopper bullets spin

[turk]
don’t f-ck with b-tch n-ggas, 226 bout the real
them n-ggas who paper chase, go in the dark and pack that steal
you ain’t hear about the young thugs
the hot boys, that’s who the are
run that sh-t blow for blow, hoes be bout catchin’ that nut
n-gga don’t think cause we young, we ain’t ridin’ or dyin’ too
down with black connection to the finish, we bout k!llin’ n-ggas too
spend your bin quickly, make you suffer, die slowly
you hit enough, i’m about to down, play the scenery
big ol’ expedition’s, do some dirt in it tonight
five choppers for who lost, k!ll a n-gga, we just might
b-tch n-ggas get left flat, like a flat rat in the street
abunch of young head spliters, like k.c. and big g
f-ck the police, cause we spray them too
pop the cop or go down, cause we ain’t down with that crew
get caught up in the crossfire, best believe it’s all on u
+ohh, it ain’t my fault+, i done what i had to do
give a f-ck about no n-gga, that n-gga don’t give a f-ck about me
any chance he get he gon’ take it, try to sweep me off my feet
that’s why i keep my eyes wide, n-gga cross that line they gon’ die
leave your families clueless, and questionin’ why
4-4 bull dogs bark loud, chopper moves crowds
innocent bystanders watch out, them lil thugs act wild

[b.g.]
i’m a ride or die-er, smoke nothin’ but that fire-ya
keep all my hoes cause i’m a liar
neighborhood uh-hotter that a toaster, ridin’ momo’s
and i’ll roast a deal what’s on my old poster
if i pull it out my holster
you sopposed’a, respect a n-gga like me
i’m gettin’ closer and closer to the t-o-p
i’m h-o-t, b-tches say i’m a d-o-g
i’m on surveilance all day be the s-p-d’s
in my heart i feel, f-ck the police
cause in they heart they feel, f-ck it
try to keep a n-gga off the street
who? not i, n-gga, the trillest b.g
lots’a money, and the best attourney speak for me
and i speak and represent for the u.p.t
i creep, and get bent with vl street
i’ slang heat, any day, noise i bring
feel i can’t be bat any day, i’m a hot boy, i let ’em hang
far as they can, cause i’m a thug to the fullest
pistol in my hand, trigga i pull it ’til there’s no more bullets
i ain’t the one to be repped on
who whole block get stepped on
if they outside, when i’m ride, i’mma ride ’til there’s no more gas
i’mma ride ’til i put you on your m-th-f-ckin’ back
i’m in all black, behind the skuh-uh-skimask
it ain’t no way that you could last
i’m comin’ like the task force, i blast with full force
i’m sorry if your grandparents on the porch
they all ‘n

[juvenile]
even if i don’t get no taller
i’mma always be a cmb baller, smokin’ blunts in the hallway
i’m skinny yeah, weighin’ ’bout 155
but believe i could tote a chopper, believe b-tches could die
now play with the man, full of that dope with a k in his hand
don’t want hear what’cha sayin’ just don’t be here when i sprayin’
how you gon’ do it, we could handle that no secret
boy, i’ll put some change on you head take you off the street quick
look, i got a mack-90 that won’t quit
i got clique foll of some njiggaz bout that funk sh-t
so what you want, get you dome split
you home hit, jeopardized
n-ggas spendin’ a bin in camoflauge
i’mma top knot shot caller, from the clique cmb ballers
f-ckin’ n-ggas daughters, got my sh-t sittin’ on brawlers
i’m mad boy, with this clique i’mma act a -ss boy
it’s cash boy, i don’t think you could last boy
i’m bout to pull some out the hall type sh-t
some steven seagal type sh-t
some -cgghh- knife sh-t
don’t think you n-ggas feelin’ that 226
behind me the crucifix, chop or get chopped, split or get split
doogie, lil wayne, lil turk, lil terius, better tell ’em
these n-ggas are felons, “hot boy” be which we yellin’
right know you close to the devil, and your lip gon’ get you hurt
picture this, three ways gon’ tear up your turf

- b g baby gangsta

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