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letra de don't stop - brotha lynch hung

[talking – c-bo]
first off we the m-th- f-ckin thug lords
now for all you n-ggas bangin, that m-th- f-ckin west coast like n-gga?
youknowhati’msayin? and fa sho no lie
29th street crip gang n-gga, c-bo holdin nothin back
yukmouth, spice 1 and we do it live, for the world it’s still f-ck off
you know what and we in that you knowhati’msayin?
and this how we handle business, n-gga
from the early 80’s to these 2 g’s, boy

[c-bo]
huh, we blaze em up with ak’s, double my clip and we dip
set trip and get hit, flip crip or get zipped
run with the crips, catch me clumsy in the 6
6 rag invertable slide divertable, murder ya
dead and gone never heard of ya
now we stuffin lead in the crome, bout to hurt ya
pack ya down in the earth, we put work in like mad dirt
odainers twistin like the revolver or the earth
f-ck church, it’s a must i burst and curse
yeah i’m a west coast bad boy but a thousand times worst
dime piece, gun in her purse, one in her skirt
cross me, bet ya life that my b-tch burst
got me lockin down the world for the north pole
too cold to hold lyrics froze my wrist and my hoes
number one thug lord, f-ck wit us!
i won’t lie the whole world gonna rush wit us, tell em

[hook – yukmouth and spice 1]
thug lord n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thugged out n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thug lord n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thugged out n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
blow! blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
spice, yuk and bo we do the d-mn thang
blow! blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
thug lord n-ggas we do the d-mn thang

[spice 1]
n-gga you listenin to the b-o-s-s-i-l-i-n-i
yukmouth and c-bo you know they label us born to die
but i pistol slap you and two n-ggas like 3 stooges
walk over to the bar and sip on gin and juice
it’s just the gangster in me, the thug in me
mug in me and get yo fro pushed back like homie
you lil clown -ss n-gga walkin in bozo shoes
while my n-ggas out here doin hits, makin the news
what you think you gon’ dodge these bullets like matrix?
like a condom, i even lay teck on a b-tch
now that’s some cold sh-t, a low l!ck, a cold hit
leave a n-gga at a funeral cryin with no b-tch
some thug lord sh-t n-gga shoot up ya coffin
n-ggas cross game get murdered by bosses
cost’s yo m-th- f-ckin life when you play with the rules
they got a n-uh-n-gga still singin the blues

[hook – yukmouth and spice 1]
blow! n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thugged out n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thugged out n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
thugged out n-ggas boss up and don’t stop
blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
thug lord n-ggas we do the d-mn thang
blow! blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
spice, yuk and bo we do the d-mn thang

[yukmouth]
b-tch, next up to bat, yukmouth destroy the earth with rap
imagine pain worse than that, my n-ggas coppin birds of crack
servin track, c-ck back and burst the gat
i want my turf back, i hurt that, work that, twerk that
rolex speed spot like joe pesci
ak ready, we deadly, b-tch!
i’m like hannibal, rector eat mc’s for breakfast
i’m the hardest artist to sign to a label in texas
yes it’s that n-gga with the platinum grill full of princesses
invisible set, straight up herbal molescents
in less than 60 seconds i k!ll em leavin em breathless
don’t f-ck with bread, run outta state bit records
with chin checkers in benz stretches who win cheddar
when fakers scramble liquid hands on n-ggas with vindettas
i’m like 10 fraredders bustin off at the same time
payed rhymes, i kick sh-t off when it’s game time

[spice 1]
blow! blow, blididat, blididat!
blow, blow, blididat, blididat, blididat!
blow, blow, blididat, blididat
blididat, blididat blalalalat!
blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
thug lord n-ggas we do the d-mn thang
blow! blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
spice, yuk and bo we do the d-mn thang

[brother lynch]
i’m hittin n-ggas so hard with these you would need jesus
beleive these is yo last days i can see you cleavich
that’s why i’m f-ckin you with the 9 millimeter
and i feed a n-gga with the heater, he was a long bleeder
and he taste good with fajitas, heat em up now eat
member me? n-gga that be eatin raw meat
with tiger claw feet so it’s easy to creep
you leave me no reason but to leave n-ggas bleedin
recieve grievence with extra season of the sicc
i pick em off like brock marion
he kept starin so i took care of him, shot him up with heroin
like malt liqour, to the liver hitter, to the river wit ya
dip ya down deep, down deep
where pirana heat they eat they meat
heat up they seats, they seats with metal from the southside ghetto
i swear i’ll make y’all m-th- f-ckas yellow
tired of diggin ditches like the goodfellows
not good with mellow, i keep the meat
keep it hangin in the closet like pig feet
delete, come with the

[spice 1]
blow! blalat! blow, blow, blow blididat
blow! blalalat! (ahah)
blow! blididat, blididat!
blow, blow! blalalalat! blow (ahaha)
blow!

- brotha lynch hung

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