iNetlyrics [ Correct Lyric ]

Welcome to iNetLyrics.com!

Most Wanted Lyrics

Top Music Charts

Justin Timberlake Wallpapers for your Desktop

Leave A Note On H...

The Five Heartbeats

Life Is A Highway

Albums Chart
Singles Chart

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Albums Chart
Singles Chart

Boyz N Da Hood » Bitches & Bizness
	Your name/nickname :
	Please make sure that you highlighted corrections you made, either in CAPS LETTERS or << brackets >> If you don't highlight it, we will not review your corrections :
	We gon do it like this, From the ATL, All the way down to the 305 M-I-Yayo, Cocaine capital nigga, Yeah, da Boyz N Da Hood, The bizness is bitches The pussy I keep in my pocket, The niggaz keep watchin They know I'll be rockin my watches, Deez keep knockin They know I be shootin to spot em, Weed boyz in da hood Strictly distribute da product, My niggaz get slizzered I'm smokin and chillin in Pradas, Fuck a 9-to-5 We gon just do what we gotta, I'm in my Chevy-thang Everything runnin is proper, Don't come too close Cuz I'm subject to up wit my chopper, We in da streeeeets (we in da streets) Who got da weeeeeed, (who got da weed) I got a couple keys Wanna eat? Fuck wit me, You don't wanna see me pissed off, (yeah) Fuck until my dicks off, (boyz n da hood) Nigga this is riff ruff. Well I don't rock a lotta ice Cuz I'm keepin it slum, (I'm keepin it slum) Six slugs at the bottom Lock and keep em in tone, (lock and keep em in tone) Crack rock cocaine, What we keep where I'm from, (what we 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 heataz Dug deep in my bum, (deep in my bum) The police tryin to keep The concrete on my palms, (the concrete on my palms) But I got shit to do (yeah) And I got bricks to move, (okay) But y'all playin for 4 mil You can git for 2 nigga, And try to play me dude (yo) Ima putcha ass in some baby shoes And I don't mean the ones that yo baby use, I know I talk about my niggaz a lot But I'll shoot too, Give me somethin to nut up about, And watch me shoot you. Chorus (2x): I woke about 6 in the morning, Gotta get paid, Fuck moanin and groanin, Hit the block Get the truckin 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 yo home Hang you by yo bitch's thong, Said you's a guerilla Say what's happenin King Kong? We real playmakers And this is not ESPN, (ESPN) Welcome to da gutter Now watch this shitfest begin, (yeah) I 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 sho I never stumble, Grind it till my bank statement Look like social security numbers, (exactly) Call us cookie monsters Makin cookie niggaz crumble, (crumble) Catch a double-digit jersey number If you fumble. I'm gon tote the pole Lock and load, Shoot til ya hear dat BOW, Take my time Speak my mind Like I'm 47, Gotta country slang baby You can tell ain't us, (yeah) We can kill too A lotta us got dem Feds at us, Still keep a stankin kitchen, Cuz in da midst of da 'caine on da way Da crack smell durin da intermission, (hahaha) Triple-beam, hand-held, hang-scale Got some caine stain colored plain fingernail, Chrome black dish backed up just our clientele, Saw him walk a thin line but it's not a fat red, (fat red) Ima rap for deez packed heads Gats, crack sales, sex and blacks that wanna stack mils, Smokin on dem Percocet Runnin in yo house ramblin Wonderin where da work is at, Ho's in the third still a-hollerin Where dem furs is at, Phone in Atlanta ring da family, Where dey workin at, Pay a chain. (hey, hey, hey, hey, heyyyyy) 6:45 AM, life's great, Got the baking soda, I'm cookin pancakes, (that's riiiiight) Where I'm from nigga I'm the man, Take em out, break em down Like a lapdance, (yeaaaaaah) I ain't playin I got hella choppers, All my partners deal And they got helicopters, (that's riiiiight) It's like my old job But a lil different, (what? heyyyyy) I used to work at Church's Chicken, But now I cook my chickens in my own kitchen, (what) A kitchen fork and a glass pot, Try to rob if you want Getcha ass shot. Chorus (2x): I woke about 6 in the morning, Gotta get paid, Fuck moanin and groanin, Hit the block Get the truckin rollin, rollin, By the night time My pockets is swollen, swollen...
	Your Comment (optional) :
	You have characters left

All lyrics are property and copyright of their respective owners. All lyrics provided for educational purposes only.
Developed by Kouras Network. © 2005-2024 iNetLyrics.com Privacy Policy

create counter