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brotha lynch hung – i get’s off lyrics

[verse 1]
oh, wait a minute
you know me, n-gga, smoke a whole crate of spinach
og n-gga, og like bobby johnson
and i pack three heaters like charlie bronson
you want some? oh, you won’t come
you got sand in your gas tank, your sh-t won’t run
i’m still hungry where’s that last steak
f-ck it, cut out your prostate and work with that
i take the oj glove, n-gga, jerk with that
spit’s that’ll crack your back, oh really, hurt your back
i got problems like cos don’t desert the fact
and the fact is i was the sickest amongst the black kids
sitting in the corner at 14 and crack lids on the 4-0
4 years later, i’m out the 4-door
dumping at your afro soon as you p-ss go
i’m the last mohican, i feed off your belly leakin’
i hear what your talking but can’t feel what your speakin’
from the gardens to creek and all the way from monday to the weekend
i get high, get drunk, and f-ck somebody’s sweet lips in the mouth
catch these f-cking hollow tips in the mouth, it’s sacramento’s dirty south, n-gga

[bridge]
yeah
really don’t matter (right up to your face and diss you)
cause i get’s off like a motherf-cker, you know
and it’s real chopper (right up to your face and diss you)

[verse 2]
i’m a one-man ten-thousand day war
see f-ck the score, i’m-a still play hard
and like t-ts in my face i’m-a stay hard
and playing you is like playing cards
see, playing me is likely to never happen
got funk? [?]
forever pack your metal, i demonstrate it to several
i spit like diarrhea, i wish you would to see a
ripgut n-gga that’ll split up your guts, like, meat market
it’s built raps like a carpenter, graze you like a pencil sharpener
don’t get me started up, i’m 350 rocket
.380 in my pocket and i don’t have to c-ck it
i keep it knocking from sacramento to chicago, roll like
12-gauge in the el dorado, i’m so tight
spiderman through your night on these n-ggas
committing sin, try it again, i’m the one supplying the gin
your sh-t is watered down, can i bring your daughter down like out of town
plus i nut on faces, you n-ggas fake like a oasis, hit you
get away with no traces with you, like jason did you
see i get’s off

[hook]
see i can be like 60 years old
but still i’m-a eat meat
i mean i’m-a still eat n-ggas up
n-gga you got me f-cked up
mix professional with n-gga sh-t
about to get tucked up you f-cked up
time to get in the dump truck
(x2)

[verse 3]
i get’s off on your face
you a swallow it–ss n-gga, all of it–ss n-gga
so i slap it on your face
you’re a bad wire about to get replaced
i’m a bad guy about to run up in your face with the .38
and lay you down in the crate just like they used to do back in the day
i been chopping n-ggas up ever since sicx was sacking the yay
back in ’86, now it’s ’03 and i’m back in your face
with spit’s hard like a baseball bat that’s cracking your face
let me lace your shoelace, i’m 24 deep and i’m a loose case
body parts in the suitcase, make your jaw swell up like a toothache
truth hurts, i do work like a state job straight bob, heavy artillery
for n-ggas who ain’t feeling me, you n-ggas be k!lling me
my mouth’s like a 9 millimeter, years later still a hit in your alpine
so, it ain’t no question about mine, it’s about time
that i sew this sh-t up, you must’ve forgot i know the steps, so i hold heavy metal
eat them up on every level, heat up your chevy metal, smash on the pedal
it’s the 24th street ghetto, it’s the gardens
we n-ggas r-t-rded, we make your heart split, trust me
we started the spit’s and trust me we gonna end it by
making your brain tissues rip, spit until you get tendonitis
i’m burning tires on you n-ggas careers
hitman for hire on you n-ggas lyrics
[?] and you know i just can’t shake it
leave you b-tt-naked, half your body in the refrigerator
[?] it’s now eat
it’s a crowd on the street, it’s been a k!lling, it’s bad news
somebody give me some penicillin and tell his children [?]
from the bullets, just when you thought we wouldn’t pull it
we took his money and his pride and everything
take his honey and his ride and everything
it’s all bullsh-t, sell it
i spit hard, right straight from the pelvis
let you tell it, i’m a nail gun emptying out nail clips
and he’ll still let you smell it
finally get to release my own sh-t, n-gga

[hook]
(x2)

- brotha lynch hung lyrics

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