letra de uproar (remix) - kirk jr
fleece’ll run sh-t
you n-ggas run home
you think you thug sh-t
but the thugs don’t
that’s how ya type be (type b)
it’s in ya blood flow
you ain’t the blood type
still might get pumped tho
i’m from the eastside
where the drugs sold
and where i reside
we call the slums home
you’d get the peace sign
that’s not enough tho
but the piece iron, we put up those
you flex ya muscles
i’m flexin’ my soul
b-tch, who want smoke?
i got the blunt rolled
even thinkin you come close is a joke
love from the goats i get the utmost
& the fleece, we zip up hoes
who oppose
we keep steel (still) like a pose
but the pole’s overloaded
i let the homie hold it –
it’s tucked close
my “dog”, but he don’t talk when sh-t get ruff, bro see them
arms out and he jump in
that’s love
no mystery, if the gang go mask off?
you come up ghost and if we put metal in kids?
ruh-roh
gang sh-t, bet ya gang split when the pump show
and if we come blowin the snub nose liked it’s stuffed, know
that if i spy some hate, the cylinder unload
and it munch holes
“thought i was feelin you?” f-ck no
if he don’t front dough? i’m at his front do’
take his cash, give ‘em bullets like a gun sto’
back of a hater mouth, that’s where the gun stowed
you gotta wait, to get em out i need my guns towed
grab the sh-lls out the cabinet then go gung-ho
he brought his kids?
let ‘em have it, like a gun show
& once we got you on the ropes
you get jumped, choked
and .40 beams’ll have ‘em sho’ to lean like young dro
what i wrote in ink
got you stuck/poked
get puffed, smoked, ‘cause once we roll
we’d get ya guts dumped andy disposed
like a dutch, hoe
we in clutch mode
put the silencer on it
that’s how i shush hoes
uh oh
hit you with a dumb flow
weak mcs are gonna choke
with just one stoke of a brush stroke
any emcee go against me?
then he mince meat
there my lunch go
k!ller instincts
got a big piece, but it fits me like a puzzle
i get respect, they want more
you run shows, no one shows
there’s a disconnect –
like that one show
“gunsmoke” to young folk
you lack the gusto, schmucks
you suck, so just bus home
‘fore you get ya whole
frontal lobe bust open, fasho
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