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letra de we don't give a (fuck nigga 2) - damu ridas (bloods)

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intro: ice cube & lil’ hawk:

nine-nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga

verse 1: b-brazy:

gimme some tweed for my n-ggas, some drank for the hoes
a woop woop for the gang that, bang on figueroa
mr. blood brazy, hoover k!lla, all crabs die
go bustin’ when i’m drunk, (?) angry, stupid high
my bhakis hangin’ so low, i’m f-ckin’ up the creased cuffs
slangin’ rocks, rough and puff with no afro puffs
about this fly gangsta plane on lanes, i ain’t kiddin’
every rhyme that i say gon’ be hittin’, i ain’t bullsh-ttin’
i’m a b-dog in a b-doggy dog world
red nikes and red chucks, g’d up with the burl
hangin’ down my back, tootin’ on the sack
and twistin’, (?) on the daytons in my candy apple lac

chorus x2:

nine millimeter wеnt (bang) to the temple!

wе don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!
verse 2: pimp d:

come in the do’ with my flow for the west coast
i’m fits to gangsta that sh-t, i thought i told you so
yg pimp d, you know i’m pimpin’ for mine
and i’m still runnin’ from the mothaf-ckin’ one time
i’m shakin’ them, i’m breakin’ them, my d-ckies hangin’ low
i’m fit to blow up, i thought i told you so
it’s that gangsta sound, another platinum hit
i’m representin’ the westside, the yg’s gangstin’ that sh-t
biaitch, uhhh, you don’t wanna be
me, lil’ hawk, og eyes and sp
and like i told you, i fold you, and put you on yo’ back
and flip into my hood with a chronic sack (woo woo)
you little lolly-ass hoe
i be the dopest mothaf-cka, thought i told you so
yeah, 4 menace and i’m out
westside, inglewood, d-cks and nuts in your mouth
f-ck crabs!

chorus x2:

nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!
verse 3: peanut ii:

peanut ii in a luxury, i know y’all n-ggas miss me
blood, i just touched down from bustin’ on the rice krispies
i got my n-ggas wanna scr-p, the b-tch is on my lap
and my n-gga 88, with the mothaf-ckin’ strap!
denver lane is the hood like the 5 to the do’
hit us on d-mn figg, denver lane gangsta bloods!
f-ck bool fo’ real, and hth
and when i come through your hood, you better try to escape
– ’cause i’m comin’ with the k and some brazy ygs!
so b-tch, get off the corner and leave your mothaf-ckin’ keys
it’s the l gang, n-gga, mr. yg peanut
denver lane gangsta bloods and we don’t give a f-ck

chorus x2:

nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!

verse 4: o.g. mad eye:

o.g. mad eye is about to flizzo
goldens on track comin’ down the fizzo
hittin’ ’em up, westside, as i gangsta glizzide
with my n-gga lil’ hawk, with the strap on his side
as we swoop and we woop, cmg’s on the block
– og, yg
packin’ suits and glocks
– it don’t stop
now i’m off in the wind
to get a dub sack and red ride to the brims
roll a fat blunt, and hit the road
hoppin’ like a toad, straight gettin’ blowed
– hold up, stay off the nuts
crenshaw mafia gangstas and we don’t give a f-ck
chorus x2:

nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!

verse 5: spyder:

kan’t stop, won’t stop, i’m too f-ckin’ hard to quit
regulatin’ that sh-t, lettin’ the yah-yah spit
rip your mothaf-ckin’ meat, peep, blood, i ain’t the one to be
played like a lolly, you get beat like a drunk dumb
murder, death, k!ll with the g-ngb-ngin’ sk!lls i got
187 on a block, ain’t no one to see the dot
capped on the spot, guts all on the ground
f-ckin’ with them bloods out on to put the serve down
fool, you must be tweakin’ off some sh-t i don’t smoke
and i hope that you choke and catch cancer in the throat
you’s a dope flip-flop wit’ yo’ ass turned up
it’s westside cmg and, we don’t give a f-ck

chorus x2:

nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!

verse 6: lil’ hawk:

all crab-ass n-ggas, make way for the cmg
it’s that n-gga lil’ hawksta, 4 fingas and the b
crenshaw mothaf-ckin’ mafia, woop woop! (woop woop!)
as we swoop 4 deep in this mothaf-ckin’ coupe
deville, chill, how in the f-ck did you figure?
n-gga, c is for crab and k is for k!lla
so n-ggas, don’t even try to f-ck around
n-gga, i’m b-d-o-g’n and i’m not smokes the pound
i gets busy, snap, crackle, pop like rice krispies
so miss me with the drama and i don’t need the kids, sissy
f-ck crabs, and now you n-ggas know wassup
inglewood and south bentral n-ggas gives a f-ck

chorus x4:

nine millimeter went (bang) to the temple!

we don’t give a f-ck, n-gga!

- damu ridas bloods

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