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brotha lynch hung - blood on da rug (rizzla remix) lyrics

[chorus]
left his blood on da rug—evidence
could have been mine or his, so i’ve been stressed out ever since
left him on the concrete wit’ his head split
found out where i live by this, by this, punk b-tch
knowin’ it’s about to crack like an indo sack, i’m h-lla f-cked up
so with the heat, i commence to peak out the window, waitin’
ran off the indo, shakin’ n-ggas like barry sanders ‘cause they weak
they weak, h-lla weak, and i’m at my peak

[verse 1]
when i’m buckin’ at the enemy, it’s like ten of me
choppin’ down trees, twistin’ up leaves, ’bout to make n-ggas bleed
off the hook like a fish with his lip cut, get away, got away, rip gut
hit ’em up with enough lead stuff to turn ’em into a magnet
body in da dragnet, keep my d-ckies saggin’, blue flaggin’
body draggin’ down the street to the end of the creek
and it’s evil you seekin’
creepin’ through the gr-ss of the gardens, d-ck hard
and i’ll be draggin’ on a garcia vega with the green flavor neighbor-
hood make or break a deuce-four, f-ck a hoe
a lotta n-ggas don’t know but it’s lose a hoe, gain a hoe
so, bruise a hoe who’s to know, really doe, follow me up
i’ll leave your body in the back of the ’84 cut, all chopped up
look through my window at night, and you can get gl-ss in your eye
after that your -ss gon’ die, screamin’, and that’s no lie
you’ll be p-ssin’ me by, every night until i come out with the mini mac
and attack like a pit bull off that dumb sh-t you pulled
i’m talkin ’bout…

[verse 2]
i know, gotta roll, like dough, blow the whole
eastside into smithereens, leaving all the bl–dy streams
you n-ggas didn’t give a f-ck about me
so i left you stranded on the t-tanic, don’t panic
you just need some f-ckin’ heat f-ckin’ with me
n-gga, it’s like f-ckin’ yo’ momma
n-gga, it’s right in front of your face, it’s drama
making your sp-ce, taking your place
n-gga, you weak, weak as f-ck
m-th-f-cka, duck, grab your cut
trying to get away from me and my ap, let me know when you had enough
cleaning up these streets, getting rid of these hoes and foes
you could see me in my blue clothes, sitting on trues and vogues
waitin’, see me on the street and you ain’t got nothin’ to say to me?
well, f-ck you, two d-cks and a four-fifth, smoke you like a bomb zip
suck blood from my mom’s t-t, that’s how sick
i got that gangsta disease—i be lovin’ to bring ‘em to they knees
make me nut like s-m-n—seemin’ like a demon
when i red beam ‘em, seen ‘em, with the ap eatin’ up human beings

[verse 3]
them n-ggas that wanna empty out my chest plate
i hit ‘em with fury and make ‘em go sickly from the snake bite
a parasite, you ain’t tight
try to f-ck with a n-gga to get right, end up in a pit bull fight
trust me, my trusty heat is rusty
waitin’ for the scene to get dusty, and all you see is just me
standing like the last man standing, but i ain’t no bruce willis
manic depressive and restless, i’m a hog about my juice—feel it?
when i plug you with the tec, ghetto chef
cuttin’ n-ggas up like david koresh, welcome to your own death
when the funk was on, your n-gga crept, like a spider
denied her of a life, then nutted all up inside her
i kiss the b-tches and made ‘em switches, get you for all your riches
in your backyard i’m diggin’ ditches
tend to act hard, you get your lip split
my weapon got the chrome dipped like scottie pippen
i’m dippin’ from long range, hit ‘em up, what part of the game is it?

- brotha lynch hung lyrics

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