Testo Bit***s & Bizness - Boyz N Da Hood
Testo della canzone Bit***s & Bizness (Boyz N Da Hood), tratta dall'album Boyz N Da Hood
We gon' do it like this
From the ATL, all the way down to the 305 MIAO
Cocaine capital nigga
Yeah, the Boyz N Da Hood
The business is bitches, the pussy I keep in my pocket
The niggas keep watching, they know I be rocking my watches
Ds keep knocking, they know I be shooting the spot up
D-boys in the hood strictly distribute the product
My niggas get slizzard, I'm smoking and chillin' in Pradas
Fuck a nine to five, we gon' just do what we gotta
I'm in my Chevy thang, everything running is proper
Don't come too close cause I'm subject to up with my chopper
We in the streets (We in the streets)
, Who got the weed? (Who got the weed?)
I got a couple keys, wanna eat, fuck with me (Uh)
You don't wanna see me pissed off (Yeah)
Fuck her 'til my dick soft, nigga this is Rick Ross
Well I don't rock a lot of ice cause I'm
Keepin' it slum (I'm keepin' it slum)
Six slugs at the bottom, lock and keep '
Em in charm (Lock and keep 'em in charm)
Crack rock cocaine what we keep where I'm from (Keep where I'm from)
You don't believe me, nigga come and see where
I'm from (Nigga come and see where I'm from)
Keep two or three heaters dug deep in my bum (Deep in my bum)
The police tryna keep the concrete on my palms (Concrete on my palms)
But I got shit to do, and I got bricks to move (Yeah, okay)
But y'all payin' for four, nigga you can get for two, nigga
And try play me dude, I'ma put ya ass in some baby shoes
And I don't mean the ones that your baby choose
I know I talk about my niggas a lot, but I'll shoot too
Give me somethin' to nut up about, and watch me shoot you
I woke up 'bout six in the mornin'
Gotta get paid, fuck moanin' and groanin'
Hit the block, get the truck rollin', rollin'
By the night time my pockets is swollen, swollen
I woke up 'bout six in the mornin'
Gotta get paid, fuck moanin' and groanin'
Hit the block, get the truck rollin', rollin'
By the night time my pockets is swollen, swollen
From dusk to dawn, we stay posted up in project homes (Homes)
Keep a plastic tone, y'all want it? Bring it on (Bring it on)
We'll creep up in your home, hang you by your bitch's thong
Since you's a gorilla, say what's happenin' to King Kong
We real play makers and this is not ESPN (ESPN)
Welcome to the gutter, now watch the shit fest begin (Begin)
Ain't no fuckin' Jack Triple but I'm bakin' cakes (Cakes)
Plus my cakes more than triple what that fag makes (That's right)
Fuckin' just to stay awake, makin' sure I never stumble
Grindin' 'til my bank statement look like
Social security numbers (Yeah, yeah)
Call us cookie monsters, makin' cookie niggas crumble (Crumble)
Catch a double digit jersey number if you fumble
I'ma tote the pole, lock and load, shoot dead at 'em
Take my time, speak my mind like I'm bread stampin'
Got a country slang baby, you can tell, ain't 'em?
We can kill too, a lot of us got them feds at us
Still keep a stankin' kitchen, cause in the midst of
The 'caine on the way, the crack smell during the intermission
Triple beam, hand held, hang still
Got some 'caine stain colored plain fingernails
Chrome black, get stacked up, test our clientele
So I walk a thin line but it's not a fat rail (Fat rail)
I'ma rep for these packed jails
Gats, crack sales, sacks and blacks that wanna stack mil' (Woo)
Smokin' on them purple sacks
Runnin' in your house, ramblin', wonderin' where the work is at
Hoes in the third steady hollerin', "Where the furs is at?"
Phone in Atlanta, raise a family, where they murkin' at?
Head tight
6:45 AM, life's great
Got the bakin' soda, I'm cookin' pancakes (That's right)
Where I'm from nigga, I'm the man
Take 'em out, break 'em down like a lap dance (Yeah)
I ain't playin', I got hella choppers
Call my partners, them, and they got helicopters (That's right)
It's like my old job, but a little different
I used to work at Church's Chicken
But now I cook my chickens in my own kitchen
A kitchen fork and a glass pot
Try to rob if you want, get your ass shot
I woke up 'bout six in the mornin'
Gotta get paid, fuck moanin' and groanin'
Hit the block, get the truck rollin', rollin'
By the night time my pockets is swollen, swollen
I woke up 'bout six in the mornin'
Gotta get paid, fuck moanin' and groanin'
Hit the block, get the truck rollin', rollin'
By the night time my pockets is swollen, swollen
Credits
Writer(s): William Roberts, Jacoby White, Jay Jenkins, Chadron Moore, Lee Dixon, Miguel Scott
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