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scarface – dying with your boots on lyrics
trouble seems to catch a motherf-cker with his cards down
gotta keep my drawers up, sh-t’s gettin’ hard now
these motherf-ckin’ cops be plantin’ sh-t on these n-gg-s
simply because these n-gg-s got bank accounts that’s bigger
i just can’t get no peace from you motherf-ckin’ rollers
every time i pull my benz-o out, you pull me over
i’m sick of motherf-ckers who be jocking whitey’s coattails
blacker than a motherf-cker, sweat me ’bout my dope-sales
n-gg-s just take your cut and get your -ss up out my face
the only thing you probably get from me is a c-ck-suckin’ pistol case
unless you plan on plantin’ a lil’ somethin’ in my sh-t
just because you ain’t got sh-t, b-tch
give ’em a badge and a trigger and that makes ’em figure
that they can f-ck with a million dollar n-gg-
they got you mixed up, fixed up at the segas, shookin’ indo
gettin’ f-cked up in the gank-hole
the only way you’ll whip that motherf-cker
is when you whip that motherf-cker
and we choke the motherf-cker
(man, f-ck that motherf-cker)
so when you hear my song and wanna get it on
you better come prepared motherf-cker
you dyin’ wit’cha boots on
(put ya foot in my shoe, and let me try on your boots)
dyin’ wit’cha boots on
(put ya foot in my shoe, and let me try on your boots)
yeah
do you know how many years you’re facing inside?
25 to life and that’s on the real
so you better snitch on your partner
f-ck that, it was brad dawg, i ain’t goin’ out by myself
n-gg-s gettin’ caught, doin’ time, so they snitchin’
they pickin’ n-gg-s up on a funky -ss suspicion
we’ll be goin’ down for some questioning we think
and end up gettin’ hit with the f-ckin’ kitchen sink
racketeer and laundering, kingpin wondering
if they got some unsolved murders, then give him some of them
just because we’re n-gg-s and they figure we’re no smarter
we’ll sell each other out and start rattin’ on our partners
they start bringin’ up sh-t that happened back in ’85
and then comes the largest jury, b-tch, they f-ckin’ time
you might as well play the state ’cause you gon’ do day for day
and sellin’ out your homeboys ain’t the sh-t
’cause y’all gonna have to die in this b-tch, b-tch
lobbin’ wit’cha white suits on
and dyin’ wit’cha motherf-ckin’ boots on
(put ya foot in my shoe, and let me try on your boots)
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