a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

8ball & mjg – 9 little milimeta boys lyrics


tight grip on the tech-9, now it’s time to creep
hollow tips, in the clip, puttin’ suckas in a deep sleep
win, lose, or draw yo gat
die if you ain’t quick enough
or end up at 201
just because you think you tough
n-ggas in the med, now they dead, from the uzi round
trick was found, bl–dy on the ground, down in orange mound
hole, in his dome, from the chrome, dat my hand held
cuts, on the hoe, where i whooped ’em with da fanbelt
b-tches think i’m soft, cuz i treat them with respect
but i won’t hesitate to smoke a b-tch wit my tech
9 millimeta beata if i feel dat i should hit that ho
smack, step back, & watch that ho hit the floor
n-ggas on the gank might do better at a bank
cuz i’m packin’ what you lackin’ and i’m shootin’ like a tank
its the p.i.m.p-ah
the funky m.c.-ah
the n-ggas dats droppin dem b-tches wit my 9 millimeta
1 little, 2 little, 3 little tricks
4 little, 5 little b-tches on my d-ck
6 little, 7 little, 8 little n-ggas make 9 little millimeta boys (boys)

9 little millimeta n-gga, how you figure
its a chance, talkin sh-t, wit ya gun in ya pants
i’m’a step on your -ss like a stepbrother
looks as if to me dat you a mothaf-ckin death lover
weak -ss boy, wit a toy on da street
cappin on the right mothaf-cka til he meet
the wrong mothaf-ckin pimp tight, operator
who shoot a n-gga first, and then reason wit em later
now punks, trip me out, wit a gun and no clip
catchin nothin but a charge cuz he wanna be hip- but ya slipped
anyway, when ya left witout ya bullets
now be a stupid fool, reach for it then pull it
but you ain’t, cuz u can’t, pull a gun wit no ammo
you thinkn you can beat it but you know you ain’t rambo
so its best you try to beg for ya life to stay alive
cuz tricks, gettin dey dome blown away wit 25
and all about da popppin me a clip in get hip
you betta pack yo bags, cuz you goin on a trip
dis sh-t is thick as heinz, and da sh-t is gettin thicker. . .for da 9 little millimeta n-gga

(oh sh-t, i’m hit)
is there a doctor in the house?? (sh-t, i’m hit)
d-mn, i think i’m dyin (sh-t, i’m hit)
please call the doctor! (sh-t, i’m hit)

the mothaf-ckin pigs wanna f-ck up da game
sending n-ggas to jail, because dey sell cocaine
rocks of crack, make stacks of dead presidents
junkies fiendin for a hit, f-cks up my residence
5-o, creepin tryna catch a n-gga serve one
thats, when i got my mothaf-ckin shotgun
n-ggas in da bushes tryna rob me for what i got
watch dem b-tches scatter when i unload, da buckshots
jack- or be jacked, creep- or get creeped on
but n-gga don’t step wrong, cuz 8ball keep a tone
and if ya shoot at me i hope ya hit me and k!ll me dead
cuz if i dont die, i’m puttin a hole in yo f-ckin head
scandalous hoes, love a n-gga dats beldum
play dat innocent role, and have a n-gga f-cked up
she’ll suck ya d-ck and then ya fall in love
while ya at home sleepin, she sellin p-ssy at da club
but look here hoes, i won’t go out like a punk b-tch
it takes more to get me, den f-ckin and suckin d-ck
dont disrespect me, cuz ho i’m the truth
9 little millimeta n-ggas smoke b-tches too

(oh sh-t, i’m hit)
is there a doctor in the house?? (sh-t, i’m hit)
d-mn, i think i’m dyin (sh-t, i’m hit)
please call the doctor! (sh-t, i’m hit)

i tote a mothaf-ckin tone, when i gotta roam, cuz pimps dont play
and i gotta stay, where young black n-ggas obey
some kinda rule or strategy, cuz i can’t be havin the
sh-t from no n-gga who think his tone is backin me
away from da sh-t he talk, da sh-t ain’t worth bein heard
i’m thinkin bout cappin domes, you ain’t shootin sh-t but birds
for nigas who totin shanks, i hope you young n-ggas think
to creep from a pimps backside before you take his bank
cuz i ain’t no mothaf-ckin target, ain’t no use of startin dis sh-t
wit a n-gga who legit, smokin bud by da pound, orange mound is my stomping ground
dats where i’m found, and all da n-ggas who down
they gonna step when i step, jump when i jump
ima be throwin boom, dey gone be shootin pumps
havin a mothaf-ckin tone, really, really, really, ain’t sh-t to me
it’s just another f-ckin responsibility
but weak n-ggas like em turn crumbs into bricks
gettin off in da cl!ck, wit sum petty -ss sh-t
mjg, will play a punk like a toy
you litle 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 little millimeta boys

(oh sh-t, i’m hit)
is there a doctor in the house?? (sh-t, i’m hit)
d-mn, i think i’m dyin (sh-t, i’m hit)
please call the doctor! (sh-t, i’m hit)