mc ren - mr. fuck up lyrics
– (not cash money — mc ren’s brother)
my n-gg-z call me grinch and yes i’m known to be a f-ck up
loaded clip, folded sticks, my lifts and double cuffed up
put my stick so n-gg- feel my pockets with the dollar
’cause they rock keep the stock in a private prison parlor
grinch you did it, your black -ss really did it
give bone the microphone and let him kill it
give bone the microphone and watch me beat you like a cop
lil’ g from the hall so the maggot won’t stop
and plus i’m packin’ punches always keep a good grip
my homies call me bone from the whole d-mn click
i live like a mack and keep the b-tches on my d-ck
you sorry sap sips still hangin’ on my sh-t
compton is the heart and that’s where we all from
the jackin’ goin’ on in the hood and in the slum
and don’t be caught slippin’ while we dippin’ the 4
’cause ren’ll grab his nine and watch him smoke ’em from the door
and then we make a dash and put that -ss in the air
true checkin’ done by the true f-ckin’ player
i’m headed to the cut with straight chronic in my pock
rainin’ make ’em kill ’em ’cause i’m servin’ ’em spot
and that’s how it’s done i keep it flowin’ like a sailor
my beats are large my feats are star, some called me chuck taylor
then i call the juvy ’cause i know we gotta coupe
don’t worry ’bout a d-mn we got the end, we gettin’ loot
then call me mr. dopeman when i’m chillin’ in the spot
my n-gg-z call me bishop when i’m rollin’ with my glock
the crackers call me bandit when i’m runnin’ from the cops
and the b-tches call me daddy when i’m tearin’ up the c-ck
yo the t-tle’s mr. f-ck up so i figure that i’m f-cked
got no luck, sh-t, gotta go and earn a quick buck
boom boom, is the sound of my cannon
’cause i’m a n-gg- with a motherf-ckin’ gun master plannin’
i’m a crazy -ss n-gg- makin’ motherf-ckers fall
a n-gg- from the streets hangin’ in the f-ckin’ hall
i place where we smoke bud and n-gg-z get bent
and when it comes to music put on mc ren sh-t
now everybody chillin’ and the b-tches gettin’ freaky
took a trick to the room now she gots ta lick me
lickin’ out my -ss hole like a f-ckin’ groupie
i’m through now i cleans up and call my n-gg- juvy
headin’ downstairs my n-gg-z hand me a 4-o
smokin’ the extension you know it’s the indo
now i’m feelin’ high like i’m sittin’ on a cloud
the dust that we kick i guess we live our lives foul
beware of the n-gg- that they call j-rock
the party’s goin’ through but i still got my glock
i’m watchin’ for the bad apples in every bunch
and if it’s necessary motherf-cker we can thump
or get a f-ckin’ pump, put a hole in your chest
slugs goin’ straight through a bullet proof vest
matters gettin’ worse if i have to drop the dogs
beat ya in your face yellin’ till ya hit the hall
so smalls, get your f-ckin’ 9 and your clip
and let these motherf-ckers know what’s up on the whole click
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