a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de ramadan - smoke dza

[intro]
183rd street

[chorus: nym lo & (smoke dza)]
(lawd)
parked the sp-ceship in front of mama’s fry (g sh-t)
we was taught to squeeze ’til the drama die (brrt)
homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (please don’t)
heard they put her son down like ramadan
(n-ggas gettin’ tried left and right, homie)
then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized
(sh-t ain’t no game, n-gga)
traumatized (uh), traumatized

[verse 1: smoke dza]
i got a budget just to keep new dior in my closet (right)
new handheld pistols on my n-ggas like wallets
big business, so you know, it’s a bigger deposit
high-tech money machinеs to speed up the process (uh)
i don’t explain thе process to novices, what’s the object?
hand full of [?] off the optics
uh, they hate to see me livin’ my life
them “back-in-the-days”-stories still ain’t changing the price
don’t get caught up in position and power, for the hour
n-ggas get to cappin’ ’bout smoke, i light the loud up
i got n-ggas rich, you got n-ggas clipped
embarrassed, investigated, all types of sh-t
i underestimated the scripts, the hyphenate (uh)
you started of 30’s and ended with vicodins
worst thing you could do with a drug is light the sh-t
the ratio from dealer to user is hightening
your life’ll end
[chorus: nym lo & (smoke dza)]
parked the sp-ceship in front of mama’s fry (g sh-t)
we was taught to squeeze ’til the drama die (brrt)
homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (please don’t)
heard they put her son down like ramadan
(n-ggas gettin’ tried left and right, homie)
then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized
(sh-t ain’t no game, n-gga)
traumatized, traumatized

[verse 2: benny the butcher]
it’s all good ’til rules get broke, and crews get smoked
it’s crazy when you get rich off the truth you smoke
and them n-ggas you f-ck with only poof, you broke
got really fool patrol, had to trap on cruise control, yeah
uh, you know i hit the interstate scorin’ ‘caine
quarter thing, before i left i got a oil change
off the 63 where your b-tch stay, when you this straight
the p-ssy always free, but the bricks ain’t
but my wrist great, yeah
my only jackpot was a crackpot
they say i used to be a hustler, sh-t, when that stop?
my new customers ask me when that drop
it’s still fifty racks dropped just to wack opps
when i was younger i just wanted to be a fireman
i grew up fast, buying yams, supplying grams
your favorite rapper in my diet plan
i kept it gangsta, my choices was live a rat, or die a man
[chorus: nym lo & (smoke dza)]
parked the sp-ceship in front of mama’s fry (g sh-t)
we was taught to squeeze ’til the drama die (brrt)
homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (please don’t)
heard they put her son down like ramadan
(n-ggas gettin’ tried left and right, homie)
then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized
(sh-t ain’t no game, n-gga)
traumatized (uh), traumatized

[verse 3: nym lo]
if we talkin’ hustlers, i’m ahead of them all (facts)
and if we talkin’ rap n-ggas, i’m beheadin’ ’em all (uh)
did it all just to ball, but was never incarce’
’cause a fish with its mouth closed could never get caught, uh
i slide through the trenches with this .40 on my hip
deuce-deuces in the purse, a lil’ shawty in my whip (got that)
i slip through mo’ towns than berry gordy with the bricks
i got rich, kid, guess i’m tory with the bricks
if i call my body-droppers they gon’ shotty shot ’em
catch you in your buildin’, get your lobbies rockin’
spin the block and tell ’em hop in (hop in)
then we skrt on them n-ggas like, “d-mn, they k!lled ’em” (skrrt)
witness said they fled [?] just like some pilgrims
always on the guild then
we always been them n-ggas and we still them
i step outside the hilton, they film him
hop into some plush sh-t with stashboxes built in
and tablets for the children, and panoramic ceilings
[chorus: nym lo & (smoke dza)]
(lawd)
parked the sp-ceship in front of mama’s fry (g sh-t)
we was taught to squeeze ’til the drama die (brrt)
homie, don’t be the reason that your mama cry (please don’t)
heard they put her son down like ramadan
(n-ggas gettin’ tried left and right, homie)
then they wonder why the streets left us traumatized
(sh-t ain’t no game, n-gga)
traumatized (uh), traumatized

- smoke dza

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS