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 #

bizz loc - hype remix lyrics

[intro]
n-ggas better not try to live off of the hype around me still eh?
i’ll slap these n-ggas the f-ck out early
bizz loc
hann!

[hook]
gettin money while the feds watch from a impala
shot a n-gga in his chest just cause he get dollars
real n-ggas over here we don’t got b-tch problems
said real n-ggas over here we don’t got b-tch problems

[verse]
in the 6 starving sell in work with the sticks on us
caked up now your b-tch want us
never trust a hoe cause they dishonest
ride around with a sig sauer
got a sick lawyer on speed dial
legal aid never did sh-t i got nine years at pre-trial
taken notes from g [?]
how to whip dope like white slaves
got a white girl and she like cane
and i sent em both cause crime pays
beatin shots since ninth grade
lettin nines bang no storytellin
funny how i’ve never been a pimp
but i’m gettin paid from the hoe you selling
wrapped up i’m a dope dealer
never [?] with no broke n-gga
bad b-tch she a go getta
now i’m ballin out like sport center
trap spot say don’t enter
fiends only and the little homies
i be getting money with the 40 on me
if a n-gga want it then i leave him holey
hit his wig and then i leave him lonely
go and f-ck his b-tch and tell the father sorry
god forbid a n-gga run up on me
cause i catch a body like a n-gga falling
ride with the stick and i’m never stalling
got a automatic [?]
flag bluer then hypnotic
i be locing hard when i’m crip walkin
crip! crip! crip! crip! crip!
keep another n-ggas b-tch with me in a foreign rental
shordy told me he a p-ssy [?] eatin p-ssy [?] how coincidental
beat it up like a instrumental
leave a nut all in her weave
b-tches saying i’m disrespectful
you don’t like it don’t f-ck wit me
n-ggas better not trouble me
bodies drop in the six side
heart froze when frost dropped but i turnt mad when clipz died
bullets fly when i grip mine
same size as french fries
shot the opps when i’m on the road
and i stab a mo when i’m inside
i’m on a mad ting
my head hotter then palm springs
can’t lie my gun dirty like all the dishes in moms sink
fiends callin they want bling
point eights that’s a hundred n-gga
little short but its always fire
why you think they keep coming n-gga
in the trap gettin blunted n-gga
people saying i’m to hype
knuckle up i’ll brush a n-gga
eat his food no food fight
thickened out some fools wife
regular
true story
asking all these hoes one question
what the f-ck could you do for me

[hook]
gettin money while the feds watch me from a impala
shot a n-gga in his chest just cause he get dollars
real n-ggas over here we don’t got b-tch problems
said real n-ggas over here we don’t got b-tch problems

- bizz loc lyrics

Random Lyrics

HOT LYRICS