Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Live At The Tunnel, artista - CRU. Data di rilascio: 31.12.1996
Limiti di età: 18+
Linguaggio delle canzoni: inglese
Live At The Tunnel |
| It’s all for real, word, word |
| Yo, my outlet is full of powerful niggas |
| Electrify ya tie, spark up the lah |
| Keep the room dark, let me feel out my high |
| Then slap box my ghost 'til one of us cry |
| J to the MUAH, can niggas fuck around? |
| Then they better say «nah», word to Allah |
| They all dyin' down, I got iron now |
| Run upon 'em, cock it back, then tie 'em down |
| If he try to move then I gotta lie him down |
| From Y-O, aka Riot Town |
| I used to buy it, but I just supply it now |
| Y’all used to talk, but you’re all quiet now |
| You know what it is that really make it scrape it |
| Have a lot of cars, and the lot still vacant |
| And you won’t stop speakin' 'til I leave you on the cement |
| Leakin', all hot none eatin' |
| Slow down son, you’re kill 'em |
| Ok you can bring it to 'em |
| Everyday, just like Mary J |
| Sippin' iced teas and the E & J |
| Partyin', 'til your bare remain |
| You’re killin' 'em, ok you bring it to 'em |
| Everyday, just like Mary J |
| Honeys at the bar sippin' Alizé |
| Cru and Lox is ya hearin' me? |
| I know you brailin' me, baby |
| Yogi’s in the lead, you’re trailin' me, baby |
| PHD’s can’t compete mines is better than yours |
| So we can take it to the streets, my rum’s redder than yours |
| BX where the addicts sniffin' chalk outline |
| And the clubs they shout mine, shit’s about time |
| Chad and Mighty Ha he the predicate felon |
| When he make bail he eat more booty than Ellen |
| Who you tellin'? |
| The world is mine like Esco |
| If not, at least a house in escrow |
| Turnin' ghetto stars into Uncle Charles |
| Yo-gi, the uptown mellow low key |
| Understandin' that my crew is strictly Shark Bar |
| Champagne toastin' while you splittin' Clark Bars |
| I’d rather be live at The Tunnel with Flex |
| Then on the corner holdin' bundles, next |
| Y-O's time to see the hunger in me |
| And I see the same thing in niggas younger than me |
| Life they live, they ain’t got a slice to give |
| In the broken down home and they priceless kids |
| Why wouldn’t it grab the gun, heist the crib |
| And they never learn shit until twice they bid |
| Like the world turn around funny, clown money |
| Everybody laugh when they have it |
| What about the addicts, niggas that’ll hustle for years |
| 'Til they see the graveyard, up at thier tier |
| Playin' spades, you in the world and you playin' charades |
| If the war jumped off you wouldn’t touch a gernade |
| Wanna die for the cause? Lie for the dogs? |
| Niggas wanna play but never took time to pause |
| Learn to rewind, eject & fast forward |
| Try to plug it in they wanna slice up the chords |
| Yo, yo if you got the doe, B, than show me |
| Cause I’m walkin' these streets and no one know me |
| It’s gon' change though, with the ill strange flow |
| In the 9−8 push my a black Range Ro |
| I keeps the real, separate from the fake |
| If I kill, yo, I’m doin so for the cake |
| Blastin' go to a distant land |
| See my gun’s like church to a Christian man |
| It’s the code of the streets no time to explain |
| Free that soul on up to the next plain |
| Remember the pain, two shots from the flame |
| Remember the bloodstains, the cold wet rain |
| Little light guys with little white lies |
| We takin' out cash and flippin' big white pies |
| You rather run wild with your 9 mil. slant |
| You watchin' too much Stallone and Van Damme |
| Aiyyo Lox niggas what, what the fuck, who up in here |
| Where my crew at, wave your shit in the air |
| Now bust 'em once for the niggas who ain’t with you |
| In jail or above, show a muthafucka love |
| We make cake, but to make cake you need batter |
| So if you ain’t kickin' that shit the beat ain’t gonna matter |
| Lox and Cru, La Familia to you |
| So if you want it you can get the 50 shot pronto |
| Sheek that kid that spit out like tobacco |
| Lyrically fucked yall, if it ain’t chips, we ducked y’all |
| Won’t touch out if it ain’t a 7 figure route |
| Aye yo, Chad papa, where that cranberry and vodka |
| Let’s get blitzed, spit on the niggas like this |
| From Y-O to B-X y’all niggas straight C-X |
| But we count the benjamins and collect chee-ecks |
| My baguettes shine on my neck like Flex |
| Give 'em what they want, this what they lookin' for |
| Y-O-G, Chadio and hooks from Mighty Ha |
| Hit 'em with the data once again with buttah hits |
| Peace to Chris Lighty and my peeps Mark Pitts |
| Comin' with the buttahs, production Y-O-G |
| Grab a chickenhead, lets crack the bubbly |
| Flows by the Gods cause the styles pronto |
| What date is it yo, what date is it yo? |