Текст песни Young Buck - Where The Haters At? | Слова песни Young Buck - Where The Haters At? | Тексты песен Young Buck

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Where The Haters At?

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Жанры : rap hip-hop dirty south hip hop g-unit

Видео: Young Buck - Where The Haters At?

[Chorus: Young Buck]

They was glad I was broke, mad cuz I`m rich

So put that nigga out if it`s a hater in this bitch (uh-oh!!)

Stuntin in the club, make `em start a riot

Throw my hood up then go take it outside

[Repeat]

[Verse 1: Young Buck]

Why you hate me nigga? Yo baby momma love me

She see me in the club, and runs up and hug me

I show her no love, she keep on comin back

Tellin me she got yo club, and where yo money at

It must be my `Lac, that`s sittin on Pirellis

The way I count stacks, that`s got these niggas jealous

See I`m hard on a hoe, I get down for mine

You need a hand-out bitch, don`t waste ya time

If you don`t work (you don`t work), you don`t eat (you don`t eat)

We go to jail, go to church, go to sleep

I`m ridin` `round wit Scrappy in the A wit my heat

Tryna figure out how to get to Peachtree

Come on nigga

[Verse 2: Lil` Murder]

Young nigga, but a certified playa

But youse a bitch nigga, youse a bonafide hater

They was glad I was broke, but now im livin major

Hustlin and servin niggas like a waiter for the paper

We ridin down the strip in sumthin so wet

When ya bitch see a nigga, wanna suck a nigga dick

Smokin` dro and drinkin` liquor till a nigga get sick

Every city, every state, it`s the same ol` shit

Nigga money make the world go `round so get ya hustle on

These niggas snitchin` so much, I`m like "fuck a phone"

Mad cuz im on, they love to see me down

I know you gon` let me shine and get mine

nigga

[Chorus]

[Verse 3: All-Star]

Look, hatin` aint healthy, nigga so keep it movin`

These shots will wake ya whole hood up, I`m sleepin` through it

Chea, I`m used to it, I done made a gun fire

Pull the trigger one time, sound like a gun fight

You was glad I was broke, now ya mad cuz ya hoe

Love it when a nigga put it in the back of her throat

Buck, Hi-C, Murder, and Star, we aint never scared

I don`t need my pistol in the club, I`ll brawl there

I know hustlers that do deal white

Jump stupid, find out what these boots feel like

Yea, yall know me, All-Star im so street (yea)

What it is, what it aint, what it gon be

[Verse 4: Hi-C]

I don`t bust my gun, like a halftime football game

I aimed straight and I took yall name

And ya whole click look all lame

You can catch me in the house with a pyrex and it cook all caine

Put that metal in ya mouth, you gon swear I was doctor walls

Im in the club with my muthafuckin` glock in drawers

I had to let my nuts hang, so I dropped my balls

You aint hit him wit no bullets nigga shot the walls

You shoot to scare, I aim and kill

When I dump on you, they gon think yo brain aint real

Im heavyweight in the game, you featherweight

When they hear a nigga take a loss, they wanna celebrate

Bitch

[Chorus]

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