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mo3 - hold ya tongue lyrics

[chorus]
hold your tongue ’cause you might say somethin’ i might not like
and if you do then you just might lose your life tonight
my big brother told me never let a n-gga f-ck me
and if i don’t, he’ll never let a n-gga touch me
n-ggas better not come half-stepping
’cause we got something that’ll speed you up
and watch them hollow points eat you up
n-gga what? you can’t touch me
so i advise you n-ggas don’t try to f-ck me

[verse 1]
you can’t bang with a beast, gun slang on a lane with a g
quarter thing of cocaine in the seat
everything that i speak real deal, i’ll burn a n-gga up
make ’em put a n-gga name on they t
s-h-i-r-t, t-r-i-l-l
hollow tips they’ll sang him to sleep
cut a n-gga body up, dump it in the lake
let it float off and then bring that flame to his street
you n-ggas ain’t really no gangstas
you n-ggas b-tches who walk around claiming to be
something you not, i’ll go and put that thang to his t–th
knock ’em out, now he can’t even eat
got him chewing out a straw b-tch, on that raw sh-t
i’m a dog, make him lean when i aim with the heat
f-ck the law, still creep when i crawl like a hog
but up north we dumb, no brains, don’t think
we won’t retaliate on your whole la familia
gatling gun will fill him up and then hit the rest
hear that chainsaw, yeah (grrr)
that’s the sound of the blade when it rip through a b-tch n-gga flesh
knock his face off, lip to the left
chrome tec put a dip in his chest
his face all f-cked up, six in his vest
grab his head, put a twist to his neck
now that boy body built like a desk

[verse 2]
i’m from the nuddy lil buddy, thirteen-oh-thirty
lurkin’, them young n-ggas dirty
pull up on the curb, shirt be, tucked in my pants
so the burner won’t hurt while i’m servin’
come to the lane, gun in my hand like cain
with them mob n-ggas, movin’ them birdies
i’m from the lane, forest lane, gang bang, slang cane
get twisted up like a mcflurry
dum-dah-dah-dum-dum-dum
choppers on deck ho, yoppers on top of that expo
pa-rup-a-pa-pup-a-pum-pum
a hundred round drum”ll knock a b-tch n-gga up outta them retros
bah-bum-bum-bum-bum-bum
lets go, tell him ready set go
check got te tecs on decks by the jets ho
f-ck ’round and let go, one through your neck ho
like chief said if you half steppin’ (what?)
lil three tote somethin’ that’ll eat you up
and the casket ain’t shi
and them hoes in the cemetery be deep as f-ck
two-two-three when i’m creepin’ up
if you shoot me we gon’ beef it up
this the north ho, don’t get knocked off though

- mo3 lyrics

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