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dmg - you don't hear me doe lyrics

[dmg]
call me psychotive but i’m bad, n-gga yo!
and i’mma do ya bad, black
and when i come, i’m bustin up n-ggas that held me back
ya should of never let a n-gga see
that there was n-ggas and b-tches and b-tches and n-ggas that hated me
huh, i waited for my date to come-of-age
and now i’m of-age i can’t escape the f-ckin front page
so i guess that n-gga d is up to hit again
i kicks that funky sh-t and c0ke, and stupid like i’m gilligan
i’m p, supposed to hit a l1ck for a jack
the only thing i gained is the pain of n-ggas comin back
n-gga lookin for they sh-t, aggravated and p-ssed
cause they can’t f-ck with my clique
i’m here to break em off a chunk
a d-e-a-t-h-e-y, a motherf-ckin punk
cause i’ll be rollin’ with the brad-ster
so if you see us in your hoodie
break your neck to roll on past, n-gga
don’t even stop to say ‘whattup?’ cos i bust for the f-ck
and plus i’m quick to light a motherf-cker up
next time you spot me on your block, i hope you leave the place
or be the next to meet the lord face-to-face
n-gga, i ain’t the one to take no bullsh-t
cos see a n-gga like the d is game to empty out the full clip
so when i come for ya, act like ya know
sendin motherf-ckin smooth to the curb but you don’t hear do’

[hook]
i’mma bring ya to ya -ssh0l- (uh)
do it like the g-to-o (yeah)
bustin on that -ss but still i see that you don’t hear me do’
(but you don’t hear me do’)
bring ya to ya -ssh0l- (uh)
do it like the g-to-o (yeah)
bustin on that -ss but still i see that you don’t hear me do’

[dmg]
it’s time to f-ck em up, here it comes, blast, n-gga!
thump to your chest and they comin out your -ss, n-gga
i grew up hard, livin my life as a criminal
n-ggas g to k!ll but still i see that you don’t hear me do’
so i’mma serve it to ya fat, hit the deck, mate
hit the deck mate, call me flipper when i checkmate
d-um divertin nine, tre-9, full glock, glock
my glock makin sounds and it don’t stop
so n-gga p-ss the swisher quick
and i’mma blaze til the motherf-cker burn me off my fingertips
cause, see a n-gga gotta stay high
i try to smoke til i can’t smoke and then i won’t smoke
but still i got my fingers on my sh-t
and cl1ck, cl1ck, cl1ck, ya die, die, die, ya dead, b-tch!
you tried to test the wrong n-gga, bein’ tested
straight from st.paul but clockin g’s down in texas
some think i’m soft cause i play it cool
but i ain’t the average motherf-cker, i do the sh-t that n-ggas won’t do
huh, like pistol whip a woodie for his bank
then after that i go and grab his b-tch and do the same thang
and now i’m paid up the -ssh0l-
collectin grips on my drips as i stroll but you don’t hear me do’

[hook]

[dmg]
ain’t no mistakin what i’m bringin, you motherf-ckers still ain’t had enough
so i’mma continue to break you off for proper -ss chunk
may it be 9, may it be a gauge, may it be a shank
any way you come i’m in your motherf-ckin sh-t, mate!
huh, a n-gga bustin caps, smokin fires
quick to bring it to your -ss and keep on goin til your -ss die
and it ain’t no runnin down dem backstreets
cause i got slugs to catch up with carl lewis on the track meet
huh, and still you wanna test a n-gga so
audi 5, n-gga, hate to see ya go but you don’t hear me do’

[hook]

yeah, check it!

- dmg lyrics

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