MusicGu.ru

All:

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, killa.



Tony Tone:

If you`re down to glide and slide on the Clair, then let`s ride.

Tony Tone roll with Bone on the darkside, but when you come

just bring your guns with ya. If your a busta niggas gon` have

fun with ya. So, nigga, don`t get me wrong, my niggas swang

them thangs, bang some brains, slangin` llello. It all remains the same.



Wish:

Step and you`re catchin` some buckshots. Murder one on the Clair-nine-glock-glock.

Mo Thug, what`s up? Nigga, get drug,

put `em in the mud, pop and I can`t stop, now. Niggas that I

thug with kill. Pop to the chest. How does it feel? And nigga

we

peel caps. Pap. Fin to get your wig cracked back. Killin`, I`m

buckin` `em down. I wish ya would try to get some redrum,

bitch. Nigga, don`t test my hood.



Tombstone:

A first degree murderin` wig splitter, gravedigger diggin` a

ditch, puttin` a bitch and them snitches in the pit, so don`t

fuck with

them niggas off the nine-nine--the foundation of niggas committin`

the crime and murderin` every time. Niggas beware, `cause

here come the Clair mobbin` like some soldiers. Watch me fold

ya for actin` like somebody never told ya. So off we go, to the



bloody road, time to bless some souls, with that nine shot, givin`

props to the double glock.



Flesh:

Pump, pump, when I let my shells down. Hit a lick, now gimme

the goodies, and nigga me dash. I reach for the gauge and

mash, yell out "one-eighty-seven" and blast. Nigga, don`t test

nuts. Your luck`s fucked. Your feelin` wrath of the Boneyard,



thuggin` off with the Graveyard Shift, then comin` up for your

ho card, bitch. Scandalous niggas dwell in the Clair, be servin`



them chop chops. We rippin` them guts with buckshots, pop, pop.

Me give up shots out to the glock-glock.



Krayzie:

You better believe that we runnin` this thug style: Krayzie,

Layzie, Bizzy, Flesh, Wish, them wicked, now. We straight off

the

glock-glock. Run up, get your wig split now. East 99 follow me

down to me street, buck, we thug on the darkside. Better

have your pop, niggas be trippin` and flippin` as soon they get

high. One-eighty-seven, you`re caught in a murder. Niggas up

to

no good. Po-po. Fuck no. They never could fuck with a thug-ho.



Pop, pop, givin` up shots to the double-glock, glock.



Mo! Hart:

Nothin` but them killas, straight up thuggas, rippin` bucks of

lead, and (Clair thugs) gaugin` pump eruptions, nickel trip and

shut

and fuck `em down, buckin` them coppers down, round after round

after round. Bloody bodies, badges spreaded on the

ground. Ain`t no sound, just the demons screamin`, "Rest in peace.

I guess you got to suffer." Ready to dip, hollow point tip,

got your wig split, and made your body rupture, hunt my victims

on a mission, flippin`, livin` on a darker side, creepin` on

your

homicide. Let my nuts and my gauge hang low. Now, walk on by.



All:

[Boogy Nikke on the mic, right.]



Boogy Nikke:

Thuggin` through my thuggish-ass hood at night with my pipe.

Thuggin` down the double-glock, tryin` to get my serve on,

watchin` my back while six-five try to roll on. But one to the

sucka`s head, and two up in his body. Now peep my creep. I

keep the reefer smoke all up inside me.



Layzie:

We jumpin` up out from the hood. We bailin`. We thuggin`. We

lookin` like crooks. The terror be fatal, ready to roll, now

we

willing and able, rollin` with Ruthless, bitch, better check

my label. Murdered them, never come again where the scandalous



niggas settle. Bloody nigga, trues be on my level. Eighty-eight

through the ten-five is the soldiers` ghetto. Nigga, don`t take

the

wrong turn; you will enter the hood, and we`re splitters so cover

your dome, out the cut, where the thugs and hustlas roam.

Cleveland Browns, the Dawg Pound home, it`s on.



Sin:

Never get in the mix of a Clair player; you`re liable to get

your wig split and dumped in a ditch, bitch, `cause them thugs

sendin`

them slugs, leavin` `em off in the cut in a puddle of blood,

say what? Don`t make me go in my trench. Nigga, ya got me bent,



all fucked up. Your luck`s up. Now you gotta get sent to your

gravesite as John Doe for fuckin` with those...



Gates:

It`s them thugs runnin` amuck all night, but a slug up in you.

The territory never divide, go nationwide with the buck, buck.

So

where you at? Where you at? I`m strapped and ready to snap and

yank a nigga`s neck back. Split them (Kool-Aid) hats.

Into the graveyard, but prepare to get (drugged up on the Clair

to tear a round) `fore somebody gets stuck. You still won`t

want some, bitch, but what the muthafuck? I wanna one to whammy

with a TEC-9. Now, bitch, press your luck.

All:

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, killa.



Tony Tone:

If you`re down to glide and slide on the Clair, then let`s ride.

Tony Tone roll with Bone on the darkside, but when you come

just bring your guns with ya. If your a busta niggas gon` have

fun with ya. So, nigga, don`t get me wrong, my niggas swang

them thangs, bang some brains, slangin` llello. It all remains the same.



Wish:

Step and you`re catchin` some buckshots. Murder one on the Clair-nine-glock-glock.

Mo Thug, what`s up? Nigga, get drug,

put `em in the mud, pop and I can`t stop, now. Niggas that I

thug with kill. Pop to the chest. How does it feel? And nigga

we

peel caps. Pap. Fin to get your wig cracked back. Killin`, I`m

buckin` `em down. I wish ya would try to get some redrum,

bitch. Nigga, don`t test my hood.



Tombstone:

A first degree murderin` wig splitter, gravedigger diggin` a

ditch, puttin` a bitch and them snitches in the pit, so don`t

fuck with

them niggas off the nine-nine--the foundation of niggas committin`

the crime and murderin` every time. Niggas beware, `cause

here come the Clair mobbin` like some soldiers. Watch me fold

ya for actin` like somebody never told ya. So off we go, to the



bloody road, time to bless some souls, with that nine shot, givin`

props to the double glock.



Flesh:

Pump, pump, when I let my shells down. Hit a lick, now gimme

the goodies, and nigga me dash. I reach for the gauge and

mash, yell out "one-eighty-seven" and blast. Nigga, don`t test

nuts. Your luck`s fucked. Your feelin` wrath of the Boneyard,



thuggin` off with the Graveyard Shift, then comin` up for your

ho card, bitch. Scandalous niggas dwell in the Clair, be servin`



them chop chops. We rippin` them guts with buckshots, pop, pop.

Me give up shots out to the glock-glock.



Krayzie:

You better believe that we runnin` this thug style: Krayzie,

Layzie, Bizzy, Flesh, Wish, them wicked, now. We straight off

the

glock-glock. Run up, get your wig split now. East 99 follow me

down to me street, buck, we thug on the darkside. Better

have your pop, niggas be trippin` and flippin` as soon they get

high. One-eighty-seven, you`re caught in a murder. Niggas up

to

no good. Po-po. Fuck no. They never could fuck with a thug-ho.



Pop, pop, givin` up shots to the double-glock, glock.



Mo! Hart:

Nothin` but them killas, straight up thuggas, rippin` bucks of

lead, and (Clair thugs) gaugin` pump eruptions, nickel trip and

shut

and fuck `em down, buckin` them coppers down, round after round

after round. Bloody bodies, badges spreaded on the

ground. Ain`t no sound, just the demons screamin`, "Rest in peace.

I guess you got to suffer." Ready to dip, hollow point tip,

got your wig split, and made your body rupture, hunt my victims

on a mission, flippin`, livin` on a darker side, creepin` on

your

homicide. Let my nuts and my gauge hang low. Now, walk on by.



All:

[Boogy Nikke on the mic, right.]



Boogy Nikke:

Thuggin` through my thuggish-ass hood at night with my pipe.

Thuggin` down the double-glock, tryin` to get my serve on,

watchin` my back while six-five try to roll on. But one to the

sucka`s head, and two up in his body. Now peep my creep. I

keep the reefer smoke all up inside me.



Layzie:

We jumpin` up out from the hood. We bailin`. We thuggin`. We

lookin` like crooks. The terror be fatal, ready to roll, now

we

willing and able, rollin` with Ruthless, bitch, better check

my label. Murdered them, never come again where the scandalous



niggas settle. Bloody nigga, trues be on my level. Eighty-eight

through the ten-five is the soldiers` ghetto. Nigga, don`t take

the

wrong turn; you will enter the hood, and we`re splitters so cover

your dome, out the cut, where the thugs and hustlas roam.

Cleveland Browns, the Dawg Pound home, it`s on.



Sin:

Never get in the mix of a Clair player; you`re liable to get

your wig split and dumped in a ditch, bitch, `cause them thugs

sendin`

them slugs, leavin` `em off in the cut in a puddle of blood,

say what? Don`t make me go in my trench. Nigga, ya got me bent,



all fucked up. Your luck`s up. Now you gotta get sent to your

gravesite as John Doe for fuckin` with those...



Gates:

It`s them thugs runnin` amuck all night, but a slug up in you.

The territory never divide, go nationwide with the buck, buck.

So

where you at? Where you at? I`m strapped and ready to snap and

yank a nigga`s neck back. Split them (Kool-Aid) hats.

Into the graveyard, but prepare to get (drugged up on the Clair

to tear a round) `fore somebody gets stuck. You still won`t

want some, bitch, but what the muthafuck? I wanna one to whammy

with a TEC-9. Now, bitch, press your luck.

Адрес электронной почты		example@domain.ru
Код заказа		999-999
Нажмите после заполнения
Пожалуйста, вводите корректный адрес электронной почты, так как на этот адрес будет отправлена дополнительная ссылка на загрузку выбранной Вами песни. Если был указан неправильный адрес электронной почты, вы можете его исправить. Для исправления адреса электронной почты отправьте электронно письмо в службу поддержки (support@musicgu.ru). В письме укажите полученный Вами код и корректный адрес электронной почты. Отправляя сообщение на один из предоставленных номеров Вы подтверждаете свое согласие с Правилами использования сайта и Пользовательским соглашением.