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letra de west coast freestyle - enphamus

[intro:]
uh
[?] on the track, ayy
-whistle-
uh

[verse:]
i ain’t blood, but a blood b-tch was spillin’ blood for me
i done gave her 42, for whoever dubbed for me
i been ridin’ wit’ arms, reach and get a hug from it
if you was dyin’ on life support, you could get unplugged from it
laid his ass but got to switchin’ when i do his ass like grandma did
speakin’ on jb, you must not know i come from grandma wig
i was at the do’ when y’all was searchin’, b-tch, i never hid
n-ggas talm’bout smoke, but they ain’t croak, you n-ggas smokin’ mid
[?] like two of ya, hope you understood it
somewhere g jumpin’ like the cutlass in the hood is
fightin’ through his place, makin’ explosions where the wood is
got ’em doin’ bad, ’cause they be overlook my goodness
barack obama wit’ the .44 bulldog
get away wit’ murder, n-ggas tellin’, b-tch, they fooled y’all
hop out bussin’, lead ’em, car ridin’, n-ggas schooled y’all
spinnin’ ’till they move, we the mothaf-ckin’ u-haul
she look at me like, “why you f-ck me like that?”
b-tch, i’ma gangster, paranoia got me clutchin’ my strap
don’t give a f-ck if you can’t breathe, have an asthma attack
baby suckin’, made me jump up like a panic attack
uh-huh
trap still jumpin’, guns still bussin’
switchblade, switch stays, me and coco still huntin’
caught a plug, he in cuba, he put coco in the luggage
send it to the edge of florida, we gon’ pick it up and cut it, uh-huh
n-ggas said they servin’, they must work at hooters
if my car break down, i’m gon’ spin him on a scooter
i’m havin’ real exotic bags, this sh-t smell like manure
i’m talm’bout higher than the earth, this sh-t will have yo’ ass on jupiter
i’m tutorin’ tutorers, easy like it’s lube in her
keys like a computer, she done set up, i’ma shoot at her
f-ck her from the side, she feel me rubbin’ on her uterus
i wouldn’t f-ck you good if my body count wasn’t numerous
i’m sorry
i’m that n-gga when i walk into the party, yeah right
ain’t sh-t changin’, the same spot wit’ straps every night
n-ggas b-tches, i’ont believe ’em, got a p-ssy, hairy dyk-
ye’ain’t got yo’ own change of clothes, n-ggas sharin’ lives
[outro:]
uh, uh, uh, right
bwop

- enphamus

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