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8ball – spit lyrics


[verse 1]
i never played the games, f-cked hoes and tricks
n-ggas think with they d-ck and get hit for l!cks
we mob for life, straight scarred for life
“sp-ce age 4 eva” n-gga f-ck the hype
hard rounds i bust, crush punks to dust
weak studio gangsta, you can’t f-ck with us
we live the streets, give streets the piece
defeat weak emcees and bust heat to eat
my love for change, got me stuck in the game
got me goin insane, who the f-ck can i blame?
no you but me, not him but i
is the one to blame for anything i try
love life and give, but a trick ain’t me
give b-tches the d-ck and give n-ggas the heat
bust flows that k!ll, h0m-cide for real
gold grill and trills, you weak n-ggas no the deal

y’all n-ggas can’t f-ck wit… the sh-t i spit
y’all n-ggas can’t f-ck wit… what i f-ck wit
y’all n-ggas can’t f-ck wit… the sh-t i kick
y’all n-ggas can’t f-ck wit… what i f-ck wit

[verse 2]
i got a mind for murder, leave n-ggas with st-tches
bl–dy kick in the crown for thinkin this is fict-tious
i’ma live for this and i’ma die for this
eye for eye for this, flip a pie for this
this sh-t is love and hate, n-ggas love to hate it
a piece of paper and a ink pen made me straight
god knows i try, every breath i take
every song i make, is from the heart to the tape
i break and crack flows, build and stack flows
attack the track flows, back to back flows
you know, i do whatever to get the cash flow
bust and mash fo’ eights in the slab ho
southern distributer, narcotic deliverer
this sh-t i be throwin up, combustin and blowin up
i told you n-ggas this, see now you done got me p-ssed
eightball – fat boy – murderous lyricist

[hook – 2x]

[verse 3]
i never f-ck with fakes, these n-ggas is snakes
smile in my face schemin tryna see what they can take
emcee for life, ak-47 flows
like al capone n-gga, i’m showin my golds
black skin and rocks, hittin b-tches that bop
blowin weed on the parkin lot, f-ck the cops
we crash the scene, fulla tuss’ and lean
with my saggin jeans, tryna bag a queen
f-ck n-ggas with blunts, tryna get in my mix
brown weed fulla seeds, i don’t smoke that sh-t
i’m a green fanatic, i should be in a clinic
talkin to a psychiatrist cuz i know i be trippin
long nights, fist fights, smoke till we cain’t
life of a hustler, go hard in the paint
the streets, got no heart, and no mercy
i think that’s why they call down south dirty

[hook to fade]