Informazioni sulla canzone In questa pagina puoi trovare il testo della canzone Men Of Business, artista - Cuban Link. Data di rilascio: 18.01.2022
Limiti di età: 18+
Linguaggio delle canzoni: inglese
Men Of Business |
| Now these funny niggaz is actors, they in movies |
| Straight characters, Lookin' like «Winnie the poohie» |
| Who the only rap cat that really sell crack?, got gunz |
| Shit that push ya forehead back, Yeah! |
| You fuck my bitch and I’ll fuck yours |
| But yours gave me head, she ain’t see my bed |
| Thats why, I’ll never do a song with you |
| It’s like y’all niggaz got a thong on you, whats wrong with you? |
| And we ain’t even gotta have beef |
| We can drink malt liquour and smoke a lil' leaf |
| N.o.r.I'm slick like nunile grease |
| Cuba.german Luger with the silencer piece |
| Queens nigga, copped the whole crib, no lease |
| Ya see 'Pone in the Benz with the brand new rims |
| A.m.g kit, half of y’all niggaz is off sick |
| I suggest don’t come to the game, just forfeit… |
| (Lord Tariq) |
| Niggaz know betta than this, a verteran at pedellin' bricks |
| Caked up but still hungry, can’t settle for shit |
| Half past eleven in the ghetto is sick |
| I saw a nigga from the bricks, sell a rev' in a nic' |
| And where I’m from, It’s infested with magicians and tricks |
| And you ain’t shit unless a nigga whippin' a six |
| Gettin' 'em sick with many bitches lickin' the dick |
| Runnin' with niggaz and spiks who really living this shit |
| And these young niggaz thinkin' they invented this shit |
| Because they got a few dollars and his pendant is slick |
| Shit I hit the club, ten g’s spend it and split |
| Nigga had five thou', can’t rent him a chick |
| I ain’t rich but the way we livin is it, venomous lips |
| Gettin' me chips and gettin' me drips, enter this shit |
| Infinite hits, hangin' with Bloods and spittin' with crips |
| Dump a clip in the click and ended this shit… |
| (Cuban Link) |
| Yeah. Y’all motherfuckers gotta stop frontin' |
| Before I count in, Block back and pop sumthin' |
| Not for nuthin', y’all rock but not enough to lock with us son, i’m hot |
| Bustin' like a shotgun pump, my squad don’t front |
| Y’all pop shit, we pop the trunk |
| So what ya want punk? I stomp, gone from the bronx to Hong Kong |
| Your lone gone now, coz y’all got souped up like wantang |
| I drop bombs and murder beats, burn 'em to the third degree |
| Y’all hearda me, the first to preform open mic surgery |
| Verbally ill, words built to purpously kill |
| Why y’all herbs still kickin' nursery rhymes, I’m worth a mil' |
| So what the deal boy? I WritE the real and the say what I feel |
| SO grab ya steel tec', its evil when I play fight, I play for real |
| I’m from the 'vills where they torch coffins |
| In front of ya grlls like George Forman |
| Ain’t no talkin' to the law enforcements |
| We all be flossin' through New York, walkin' in slow motion |
| Four horsemen style, talk loud and getcha jaw broken… |
| (Kool G. Rap) |
| Yo we walk dead in these streets, stalk with lead in the heat |
| Guerilla niggaz willin' to kill for the bread and the meat |
| Niggaz starvin' with their ribs showin', ready to eat |
| When shit get hot, fuck the cops, it be feds on the beat |
| Not the one to give a speech baby, we let metal speak |
| Way ahead of the beef, Wet him from his head to his feet |
| In a pool of red, bloodshed, spreadin' from a leak |
| Another fool dead, mug red, stretched up on the beach |
| Four hundred thousand, get recruited, general saluted |
| Infinite guns, spit for the ones, shit go down and i’ma flip for my duns |
| Cop a load of bricks in the tonnes, and push a big whip in the slums |
| The quicker they come, the swifter they plunge |
| Leave 'em to rot on a dark block, hollow tip fifth in they lung |
| Or catch an ear to ear rip and get hung |
| From just a single slip of the tongue |
| Bust’em, leave 'em twisted and done… |
| (Billy Danze) |
| Now let me take you motherfuckers on a wild ride |
| Which is worldwide, on the wild side, homicide side |
| Where a lot of serial killers have died |
| I’m one of the few with a will to survive, you |
| Know this metal fist nigga never choke up |
| Spit venom in 'em and open 'em up |
| The game Non stop. (Lil' Fame) niggaaa… |
| Til' everybody shot. (Lil' Fame) niggaaa! |
| Til' everybody drop. (Lil' Fame) niggaaa! |
| I will catch your ass five years later |
| Rite there at ya crib gettin' on the elavator |
| Creep up on you like I’m kin to Darth Vader, then unload the fader |
| Keepin' extra clips for that one couragous neighbour |
| That got visions of being a fuckin' «Power Ranger», (Lil' Fame) Blaaoow! |
| Motherfucker see ya later… |
| (M.O.P.) Bukkabukkabukkabukka… Clack… like whoa… |
| (Lil' Fame) |
| I bring the beef hard for you, have y’all shittin' in y’all drawers |
| I’ma show you motherfuckers the meanin' of star wars |
| Pop sumthin' straight through ya, Grrraam bam bootah! |
| I don’t give a motherfuck who ya are, What the fuck y’all think? |
| This is Cuban Link, M.O.P, G Rap, Lord Tariq, N.O.R.E |
| End of story, get the fuck off me |
| I have ya niggaz open like you drank twenty gallons of Starbucks coffee |
| This is, from B. K to B. X, Queens, and I’m uptown |
| Body shot, shotty shot, God he shot sixteen slugs! |
| I could shut one hammer, blow your ass out like sixteen candles, |
| too hard to handle |
| Check this, play large and get one large inside of your large intestine |
| Now ask yourself, what the fuck is this? |
| M.O.P., M.O.B, Men of business, hahaaaaaa… |