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letra de snitchn bitches - tom skeemask

snitchn b-tches lyrics
[intro]
like dis…
(no love fo’ em)
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em

[refrain]
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ ’em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ ’em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ ’em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ ’em
…these b-tches
no love fo’ ’em
[verse 1: tom skeemask]
i made them n-ggas stick ’em up, stick ’em up, fool, it’s time to lay ya down
b-tch the f-ckin’ scope is comin’ from the f-ckin’ underground
blast from the past was my f-ckin’ name with skeemask
n-ggas of destruction had to get that m-th-f-ckin’ last laugh
disrespect my pimpin’ i’m gonna have to catch ya with a mothaf-ckin’ slug
fool, you should know that was aimed at yo’ f-ckin’ mug
time to catch this n-gga slippin’ talkin’ all that weak sh-t
you got some ana’ on yo’ chest, bring it to the f-ckin’ streets
check out my nine, look at my ride, [?] mothaf-cka’ straight from the [?] line
do you know the f-ckin’ scope or should you know the f-ckin’ time?
you and yo’ momma’s talkin’ sh-t, both you b-tches finna get lynched
with me and my n-gga mackyle from the n.o.d. gangsta clique
‘zno got the fo’ty-fo’, tec got the nine millimeter, fool
[?] come and pick up the rest of the f-ckin’ crew
dawg, i’mma holla’ as i’m chiefin’ on a f-ckin’ blunt
put the b-tches in the trunk, ’cause there’s no love for them, punk
these b-tches

[refrain]
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
…these b-tches
no love fo’ em
[verse 2: ???]
oh, it’s so early one sat-rday morning, po-po’ breakin’ in my front door
my brand new nike air [?] tiptoe and pulls up and across my bedroom floor
so high, smoked out, runnin’, stumblin’ towards the front do’
i’m livin’ in dixie homes, got me blind from the second flo’
outside i hear that blue was lookin’ try to find me
when i hizzear one of the po-po’ five-oh’s speakin’ a’ mention a robbery
that al-al committed the night before, that busta’ musta’ slipped, put them [?] on
n-gga while stuck up that bizzle and kicked him off the bridge
[?] in the scenery, low profilin’ to my hideaway
i plotted me a scheme so me ‘n that b-tch must snitch that hoe done made my day
times pass, hollow-tip bullets look [?] ‘n the type of the forty-fo’s
i’m slingin’ out my [?], i’m slippin’ on a mask, no fingerprint gloves on
steppin’ and whippin’, this [?] ‘n a pistol, b-tch, i slip in through the window
so sl!ck i creep [?] sleep a rude awakening on that hizzoe
kinda like a-actin’ like a psycho, [?] b-tches make me clizzy quick
i pull the hammer, slammin’, ain’t no love for a sickenin’ b-tch

[refrain]
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches
no love fo’ em
…these b-tches
no love fo’ em
[verse 3: ???]
i gots no love for these b-tches, and i gots my reasons why
i had this b-tch who i thought was straight but set me up to die
well, my story goes like this, g: i had this b-tch that [?]
but my n-ggas was always sayin’ that she was droppin’ off the p-ssy
but my young, dumb ass was in love with this trick b-tch
and i never figured that a trick b-tch would ever put me in some f-cksh-t
(man, was that p-ssy fat?) “d-mn, so good,” i was thinkin’ with my d-ck head
but thinkin’ with my d-ck head got me f-cked up with the feds
that b-tch throw me out like a goin’-out-of-business sale
[?] in jail make a [?] bail, locked down in this f-ckin’ cell
i promise when i get out i’m gon’ murder that b-tch
hit the jug with the main l!ck [?] on my f-ckin’ sh-t, ca’nna put that b-tch in the ditch
white is the mask gripped up to the house with the grip on my fo’ty-fo’
kick down the do’, looks on the flo’, and guess who i saw with the hoe?
the captain of the feds, gettin’ head, this fo’ty-fo’ blowed ‘im
these b-tches, these snitchin’ b-tches, i got no love fo’ em

- tom skeemask

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