Количество артистов: 43,846 Количество текстов песен: 642,600
Количество артистов: 43,846 Количество текстов песен: 642,600
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Артист: Lord, Black, Littles, Craig G., ChaosНазвание : We Break BreadДанные: текст песни / слова песни Жанры : Видео:
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G.O.D. What`s up man? Word up son I`m goin uptown. What you doin? I`ma leave this motherfucking money That`s hot shit Let`s go son QB shit Fuck everybody [Black] Who make a better entrance than a QB squad From guns, cracks to tracks we some QB stars Ain`t no question `bout who we are Straight poems from Shae, Nas to the bar we keepin` the hood glowin It`s Mecca how the hood`s glowin and lives changin` Little dunns runnin` the streets with Macs blazin` Young cats runnin` the streets with soap blazin` Now y`all know why the biggest hood could be labeled amazin` We stand up running songs we step to the plate Guaranteed to make ya hot like Kuwait I went from toppin` on plates to hittin` the Ave. and puttin up A Now it`s thoughts, pencils, and papers provin` I`m great Same nigga in the hood or tourin the states Violator have to raise the crime rate, check my mind state you could see it`s on a whole different level It`s Ill Will I front Queensbridge rebel... [Littles] A `78 baby comin` up in the hood crazy Watchin` crack bubblin` in mid-80s now I live it daily Young ones with guns cockin the hammer Speakin` hood grammar hustlin` cracks dodgin` the slammer All 31s get funds runnin` raps for they dunns Quiet Storm so you won`t hear it come heavy metal excident I got some seditives to make ya`ll start relaxin` Ill Will now waitin` for the chance to keep the dough stackin` QB niggas waitin` for they anthem Look black play the cut like the phantom out front niggas Catch me on the 40 sideway to blunt have some liquor in a cup Crime Fam` livin` up this beat is excellent I feel it too much Fuck around somebody might get touched I`m bravehearted you get tackled on the fifty line yardage If you come against my whole team of starters mic murder slaughters [Lord] (Chorus) We grow grey in the same place Walk the same block, squeeze the same glock We gotta eat for niggas that don`t sleep We hustlin` in sleep catch you permanent creeps We brake bread from fucking the same bitch We reppin` the same clique for that QB shit We mos` real my people is mos` ill Nigga take it how you feel get shot for real [Chaos] I tripped and fell many times but rose to my feet Fo-fo longs concealed in my no face sleeves To my life slip away one step from a grave And steady took away my youth for locked me in a bink Man, I was too young to understand what life means See y`all gon` understand a story of thug that like things Can`t express the rush I get when busting Macs How adrenaline flows when the hammer kicks back I know it`s more than life in the hood But I still spit stories of my past ways It`s like a glass maze Six blocks caged in I was razed in The illest of fond, the realest in dunns QB to the death of me, I suerve and ride Till` my physical is stiff and my sould is on the other side Mo` money, mo` murder, mo` homicide Fuck wit` QB man you better have that allibi [Craig G.] I`m from a planet called QB where drama runs deep And gunshots wake you up out of your sleep like an alarm clock In `84 top ten that was a bomb spot Practiced playin` ball in the wrist I have a strong shot At 4 o`clock I`ll rob you under the tressle Came from out of town actin` special That`s why I see you fake leaders, and snake breaders Shit me and the Bravehearts go back like saint weeders Ball bustaz and brain beaters You ain`t worth the coins in the change meter On every block and bridge we flame heaters Hollow points for you laying cheaters Waiting till` your main day needers Shit, Craig G. Naturally and tragically obligated to bust ass In the clutch like Kurt Warner throwin` touch pass Don`t believe anything that you read inside them smut rags Half of these rappers sound like smoke twenty dust bags Probably did, you ain`t holdin` the kid that`ll bust back When drama is on I know for a fact so trust that I`m stuck in this life buck legged cap across the body Fuckin` his wife sharpin` his place stuck in his knife What`s in the mic wires, mechanics and stuff But without the fire you really can`t apply it too much I`ma let you find as such with my vocals I`ll roast you No matter where you live this ain`t bi-coastal Bring drama the most you heavy hitters down to the hopefulls Niggaz rullin` the charge and just broke through I ain`t gonna approach you, that shit that you spit I been spittin` Back in 1989 when hip hop had no limits Twenty eight with no gimmicks, real is what this shit is Got nothin` to lose cuz` I`m a double life bidder In hip hop shoot the back of ya timbs turn `em to flip flops Do a drive by with a horse so run when you hear the click clocks This shit rocks from Fresno to Fort Knocks This verse should be enough to make all of the torque stop No niggaz that four cops no niggaz that court shots Close fantasy your hypeman should be Mr. Raw Ock (Chorus) | Похожие исполнители: |
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