Testo Parade - Young Gunz feat. Freeway
Testo della canzone Parade (Young Gunz feat. Freeway), tratta dall'album Tough Luv
Lord niggas envyin' Chris, got to load 'em up
Empty them clips, bet them bitches'll back up
Tommy jeans, pistols for back up
Comin' through the house creepin', I'm the new house keepin'
Motherfuck all that loud speakin'
All the neighbors hear is loud speakers, no need for spouse keepin'
Kill a nigga then we out breezin'
Now that's a witness if I leave the nigga's child grievin'
It's our season, niggas back and forth with them rappers
That's gon' lead back and forth with them gats
And I ain't goin' back and forth with them niggas
Want a district attorney, stay strapped so them bitches won't burn me
Take that, put the effort you earnin', take a lesson and learn it
The most important is the vest and that blick, better get it
'Cause most of these rappers that talkin' ain't never live it
The niggas who said they with it, said who did it
Fresh off tour, Philadelphia to stores
Freeway that's my lead way, helpin' me to score
Stay fresh, dressed, wearin' pressed, lucky with the crack
Him and Chad West, don't guess nigga they from North
P-H-I double L ride on, with the Prop Squad
Get hit with the six auto, fuck with them big boys
Free deliver shots like the mail guy
If you come with a knife boy, this similar to Columbine
And free'll gun you down like them white boys
He that boy that you know can get the work in
And if your spot chirpin' let you purchase an M from him
Yeah, and his hammer closer than kin to him
So plans of robbin' him out the question
Cops asked my fiends 21 questions
But I gave 'em 21 extras, flex the Suburban
Bullets dipped in detergent, for plans of corrosion
Hit you niggas flesh up, have y'all niggas playin' catch up
Take a pop at the coppers, blocka for blocka, blocka
Get the point without, Steady B lead
S.P. on point with them choppers
Yo, my first name Neef and my last name Buck
From where the first sign of beef'll have motherfuckers to mask up
'Stead of knucklin' up, these motherfuckers get plucked
From where the youngins snatchin' grams, steady trippin' off dust
All it take is a puff, niggas be right back at ya
Tryin' to leave you niggas stiffer than statues
'Bout the C.R.E.A.M., we program like the SWAT team with beams
Ain't tryin' to hit no innocent teens
About the C.R.E.A.M., work hard now, live out my dreams
And tryin' to stress over no shorts or, argue with fiends
That ain't for me or, neither my team
Should be laid back in some bourbons or even some beams
The more I grow in this game, man, the harder it seems
This shit's been watered down, tryin' to raise out the clown
One was sweet, yeah I beat, still luggin' around
Same Neef ain't sweet, still reppin' the town, ya know
Fresh off tour, Philadelphia to stores
Freeway that's my lead way, helpin' me to score
Investin' in these businesses, I make my bidness his
For instance Chris address 'em if it's war
A message from Shakur, you got it, you bitch
Ain't no pride in your bitch, she let 'em have it
She divide them clips, she love the static
And she'd rather walk with shells instead of'matics
She stay weshy, she protecty
I get a kick out of the bitch like Jet Li
She won't wild when them niggas is hatin'
Got her boy out of that situation with one bloaw
So what now? Play you chumps down
Eyes like red-nosed pits, you punks growl
Get them foul, get him how? (Catch 'em and beat 'em)
Several bodies, not one foul (Lawyer can't feed 'em)
They never found him guilty, not one trial
Not one foul they can look me under
'Cause they would've bitch took me under, you niggas
Girls love us, that's what make 'em hate us
Fuck you dog, we makin' paper
The acres make the papers, can't fade us
What they go through, hey
Hollows holler, go through Clay
Go through the way, hit a bunch of teeth for crime
Don't worry I can read they mind
The phonies, them niggas eatin' so we bought extort
We asked for beef, them niggas brought us pork
We filled 'em all up, caught 'em shoppin', filled the mall up
Cops everywhere, exit out before they block every stair
Now it's hot everywhere, got to bounce all out
Make them niggas pull them Glocks all out, I need the chronic
Now we got to leave the town and
Fuck the airport, we Greyhoundin'
Coffee ground and stanky chronic
Now the Roscoe's gotta find me 'fore they consign me, I'm gone
Credits
Writer(s): Pedro Luis Zayas, Leslie Pridgen, Norman Whitfield, Christopher Ries, Hanif Muhammad, Chad Hamilton
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