Testo Papers - Brotha Lynch Hung
Testo della canzone Papers (Brotha Lynch Hung), tratta dall'album The Ripgut Collection
I used to push 24 deep in '92 like cocaine
Had them gangsta niggas riled up doin' it with no name
Stayin' at the Wells Motel, two for two G's hamburger deals
Doin' shows at broke down clubs just to get a meal
I'ma keep it real, it was all skills that paid your bills
And the fact that you don't pay niggas that shit gon' get you killed
But don't worry about me partner, like I said I'm already dead
And I hold this infrared point blank range steadily at yo' head
'Cause I'm a block nigga, you know
What happens when you fuckin' with us
We cut your tongues off, switch niggas and stuff, bloody 'em up
Run up in the cut, fuck it up, rough you up and put you up
These broke niggas don't give a muthafuck
I want that meal ticket and we never
Will kick it 'cause you funny style
Still wouldn't fuck with you even if you gave me my money now
Funny how riots get bought up, you 'bout to get caught up
Like Bokeem you be gettin' niggas
That's why you ain't got no team nigga
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
Fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
I was young, dumb, full of cum, full of Olde E. and rum
Spittin' chunks of meat all heat, always givin' up where I'm from
In every verse 24 block, I don't give a fuck
Supposed to be in the studio but I'm somewhere drunk fuckin' up
But like Too $hort, I ain't trippin'
Used to be a record thing now it's a new sport, put your clip in
I heard you be dreamin' about niggas in ski masks
With bottles of black molasses
Ran up in your pad quick and woke your ass up with the Magnum
I could've been platinum, a loc went bad when you jacked him
You gettin' old like Carl Webb 'cause you ain't got no action Jackson
Amir watchin' when I'm packin', nigga give me my shit
You the type of nigga that a paper hit, so I don't pay for shit
'Cause I'm broke, you wanted it that way for some reason
Couldn't find a stud nut and ever since I did season
Or the Sic' pick 'em off like Deion, everything you see me on
Is stolen in your Liberia with a colon, seriously until it's over
I'ma always be at that ass with the butcher knife
Askin' where you put your wife and why'd I took your life
Houses got bought up, you 'bout to get caught up
Like Bokeem you be gettin' niggas that's why you ain't got no team
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Shit is gettin' to the point where I'ma smash on everybody
And it's gettin' to the point where I don't fuck with nobody
Believe me I tuck the old shotty in the glove compartment
Hit the town with the brown and it'll be brown brown if you start shit
I spark shit that heat you up and cool you off shit
On Joyce Marie Lincoln Homes I'ma get my profit
Destructin' for years on the bus with the record out
If you brothers was Joe's I'd pull out the Tec and take you out
Hit the cut and lay low 'til I get my shit right
Interrupt your day with faytos, put .44 holes in your windpipe
They know I'm, I'm sicker than sick when I split your shit
Leave you coughin' up liver bits, fuck you niggas and get your grip
It ain't safe, nigga where was your faith? We could've blew up
Better watch how you do stuff, can't wait for the new stuff
It's called inch by inch, I pinched your bitch on the 'Gram
I said where's the money? Swiss account bitch, damn
That nigga's tryin' to get me for my papers
Bam, hit her up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
Fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
So fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, that nigga tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit him up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
Nigga fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Bam, hit 'em up with enough lead, got away with the caper
Ran to the 1964 and smashed off
Fuck your record company I'm about to blast off
Damn, you know what I'm sayin' nigga?
Can't do that shit forever nigga (You know we can't)
You know what I'm sayin'?
Gots to pay nigga (That's real)
You know what I'm sayin'?
Fuck all that shit
Oh I'ma get mine nigga, can't stop that shit (You can't stop that)
You know? (I know)
Back here where I'm supposed to be, you know? (Where that at?)
It's all Siccmade music nigga (You know)
Now what?
Niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to get me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to get me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to get me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to get me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to get me for my papers
Niggas tryin' to stick me for my papers
Rest in peace Biggie and 2Pac
You know what I'm sayin'?
Them niggas put it down
Yeah, and shouts to them real niggas puttin' that real deep shit
You know what I'm sayin'? You know who you are
You know what I'm sayin'? Makin' niggas cry over your shit
Shit, makin' niggas ride to your shit
I like that type of shit, you know what I'm sayin'?
That drunk, high, ride, night time shit, damn
Credits
Writer(s): Steven Marsden, Lowell Dunbar, Lloyd Willis, Courtney Morris, Carey Campbell, Leon Allen, Helmsley Morris
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