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Viewing Lyrics for Revenge:
| | | Artist: | South Park Mexican |
| | Album: | Hillwood | | Track: | Revenge | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 1 | | | | Lyrics: | First Verse:
My homie called me in the morning from a hospital bed
He got holes
in his body from a glock full of lead
He said, three motherfuckers that his lady
knows
Tried to jack his ass for his 84's
Now in a Ben Taub sick bed, my homie lays
up
He got sprayed up, cuz he wouldn't raise
Caught three of the seven of the shots that
rang
Them folks sayin' that he'd never walk the same
It sounds like a job for the uzi
gat
And where the fuck did your bitch say these fools be at?
For a real long time, we been
the best of friends
And I'll be damned if a nigga don't get revenge
I feel anger, that I'm
no stranger to
Bustin' slugs in they guts just a thang to do
Why they pray for you, come
and spray they crew
Got love for my homies, I thought you knew?
He said "Los don't sweat
it, let this shit alone,"
but with these punk motherfuckers I must pick a bone
Now will it
be the cranium or the chest plate?
Necks break back, snap, put him in checkmate
Lead take
me to vengeance, send this
Ripping through tendons I end this
Because you bleed inside and
it hurts to cough
I can't take no advice I gots to break them
off
Chorus:
Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta do,
What my
friends, would do for me,
You muthafuckas gotta beg,
Y'all askin' for action,
Eat a
fuckin' K,
I'm blastin' some asses
Cuz my revenge, it tastes so sweet, I gotta
do,
What my friends, would do for me,
You muthafuckas gotta beg,
Y'all askin' for
action,
Eat a fuckin' K,
I'm blastin' some asses
Second
Verse:
My niggas check me, I'm thinkin' of a master plan
I'm straight up
blastin' glocks, them fuckin' bastards ran
I'm steady missin' all my homies that done bit the
dust
Got revenge cuz them bitches wasn't shit to us
Now what the fuck can I
accomplish?
And when I'm dead, will I find myself on God's list?
Every night I give,
thanks I wouldn't die today
Turnin' cane into crack and my mic away
We dealin' cuz we
feelin' that the, pay's right
Hopin' Mama never see me at my, grave site
No daylight, play
night cautiously
Could be death, or my freedom what it's costin' me
Lost in dear life my
wife be that Mary Jane
And my streets got me strollin' blueberry Lane
Very same song sung
in the South
From the mouth of a hustler, never have I trusted a
Trick or a hoe or a dope
fiend either
Cuz they smoke like a beaver buildin' dams on the river
Live a, life of a "G'
til' the d - a - y
Hittin' switches on the freeway high
Don't reply cuz me don't give a
fuck
What you hoes got to say about me Hillwood funk
Chorus
Third
Verse:
Stop short in your tracks
Gats got the place surrounded
Sounded two
warning shots, fuck on up and you'll be grounded
Pounded bodies with a bunch of twelve
gauges
Now her face is too straight in the fuckin' dog cages
Pages of my book, turn like
the wind blows
On the paper of a crook, muthafuck them hoes
Hittin' flows as a hustler,
rose as a "G"
Saves his flows to big 8, now he scores half a ki
Some say in his head he
got insanity inside
But all it really be is mathematically inclined
Look behind, you might
find others takin' over
Rookies movin' cookies, they whipped in baking soda
Baby learn the
fuckin' rules, my cheese, is SOLID AS A ROCK
With my homies and we BALLIN' WITH A
GLOCK
Tenderoni phony fraud motherfuckers
Best to get out the game, 'fore you die
motherfuckers
Bustas trust us, but us hustlas trust no one
You can sure run with no
gun
That be a nigga slow guns
So roll one of them sweets
Chug-a-lug on the
eightball
And see where this motherfuckin life is gonna take y'all
And haters might
fall
Chorus | | | |
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