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apache - get ya weight up lyrics

[chorus]
a-p-a-c-h-e, get ya weight up!
get ya weight up!

[apache]
to all you fictional fake f-gs, frauds and fronts
i’m here to get puffed and rip sh-t and i’m all out of philly blunts
step up, step up – who’s starvin for static?
that’s like playin russian roulette with an automatic
full grown, the last kid i did tried to hold his own
rushed his crib, smacked his b-tch, held him hostage in his own home
f-cked up, goodbye – somebody sing his -ss a lullaby
tried for juice, but got a noose for a necktie
black man, black -ss and black heart
use force, cut up his corpse, dispose of his body parts
to me fun is pullin a gun in a fair fight
i’m the hype type, my mic is my peace pipe
my tomahawk talks, you sink like a battleship
f-ck a bow and arrow, p-ss me the tec and 2 clips
gimme some comp to stomp, f-ck the glory
come witness more smoke and more bodies than a crematory
you defeat me, beat me, on the contrary
i’ll knock out your fronts and sell ’em to the tooth fairy
ask the last kid who said i couldn’t rock
i scalped his -ss, and left his head in his mailbox

[chorus x2]

[apache]
i speak clear so you can hear, that’s what i’m all about
so cut that niggidy niggidy naggedy bullsh-t out
monkey see, monkey do, time to face the facts
one or two, only a few get props for that
give the next man a face or neck brace to start
took his girl, took his manhood and took his heart
give him time to rhyme, then dump him in a ditch
takin gangsters and makin ’em my “gangsta b-tch”
where’s the conflict, trouble’s comin and won’t fail
you think your weight’s up? then step on a skill scale
you’re too thin to win before i begin to blast
your dialogue sucks, your lyrics are light in the -ss
me and mines remain fine and in mint condition
they get rougher, yours suffer from malnutrition
stop sleepin on the job slob, i advise
dream about kickin my -ss, wake up and apologize
i’m a contender, while you plot and plan
got speed and a lead like the gingerbread man
bring your best buck, watch ’em get stuck up
look for safety, i’m rigged to blow the f-ck up

[chorus x2]

[apache]
f-ck it who’s got dice; cee-lo i got the bankhead the bank’s a bullet
lose with the tec to your teeth, hold the trigger then pull it
with the gift i come swift with a straight arch
compet-tion i leave ’em stiffer than spray starch
got a high strung tongue, can you catch it or match it
those who tried died by the hatchet
i play to win friend, your game i aim for the chin
rap is a hobby, i kick -ss for a livin
so what you get radio play and your record sold
and you were told your sh-t just might go gold
when i step up and strike, be prepared to duck
i’m one deep, i don’t sleep and don’t give a f-ck
i’m a hood from the hood, better yet instead
it might be safer for you if you covered your head
if you win then i’ll begin to bruise ya
f-ck that, i’m goin out cause i’m a sore loser
when i roll up to stick-up i got’cha
gimme mine, pay me or pay the doctor
don’t f-ck with a man ’til you’re full grown
cause i’d hate to dislocate your -ss bone

[chorus x2]

- apache lyrics

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