|
Kurupt - Gimmewhutchagot lyrics
Kurupt: Yo Barshawn Gimmewhutchagot nigga Come and drip into the realm of the X-files Gimmewhutchagot nigga Gimmewhutchagot nigga Gimmewhutchagot nigga Gimmewhutchagot nigga Get your position correct Get your ammunition correct The tactful tech technician effect(Bitch!) I got a quarter-key You wanna to try to stick me for it? Put the loot up, the shoot up, and hit me for it? Niggaz hang for, do the same thang for it Penetrate like, uh, poor the gas, blast and then bang for it Y'all supposed to be some type of raw doggs, nigga Fuck around and get your shit spit like laws, nigga Fantasies never formulate So when you get the formula to format Restructure and reshape Relax or we take all We make sure we shake all We shake tame or aim or flame all A bitch tried to play me like nothing's really real Like I ain't really real and I ain't really got skills(Bitch!) I make you hot like ten tons of lava rocks The Juggernaut crackin niggas like cinder blocks, nigga Chorus: Gimmewhuthcagot nigga Get blazed, get shot nigga We make it hot nigga raw My nigga Barshawn Kurupt with the auto-metal cock and draw I ain't got time to see what you saw Beat back mothafucka before I crack your jaw This ain't about nothin but life and law Niggas killin me What you ice-grillin me for? Barshawn: Now how you gonna let my looks deceive you? My raps is lethal I kicks shit that would amaze you, they daze you Y'all think my rhymes is voodoo For the first time comin through Ain't been a minute yet Already, cats wanna eye-screw Plottin to pop you You don't know me duke The one that shoot You all mad cuz I'm spendin loot That you all broke ass niggas been tryin to scoop See I done paid my dues Don't be fooled by the pretty boy image Cuz you'll get blasted up in less than a minute It's Barshawn and Kurupt, y'all gonna feel it Cuz when I bless a track, I spit venom in it So how you wanna do it, rappin or gun-clappin Either or, it could happen Kurupt, move the glock to his mouth for they gappin I bet next time you stay in a child's place This is Rome folks talkin, you don't relate If you can't hold the weight, then don't debate Kurupt: Pushin crates, headed upstate with chrome plates (check it out) Chorus: Gimmewhuthcagot nigga Get blazed, get shot nigga We make it hot nigga raw My nigga Barshawn Kurupt with the auto-metal cock and draw I ain't got time to see what you saw Beat back mothafucka before I crack your jaw This ain't about nothin but life and law Niggas killin me What you ice-grillin me for? Barshawn: You all fiend, daydream for cream I've seen Eyes gleam for the drop-top I be in You wanna end my life, my niggaz ain't seein If so happen you did that Where the fuck you expect the rest at? We got that too comin through a quarter to two Blazin they duct-tapin you and your boo All at the revenue stand, we was once a crew Mad tight, but that's life I learned the game Same cats that you roll with will split your game See I'm in it for the cheese nigga Fuck the fame (nigga, fuck the fame, mothafuck the fame) Kurupt: I play the nickel-plated position get penetrated Popes just pause, I rise with my doggs And collar clothes impact and enthrone Gone, zone the dome and then blown I heard raw before I saw raw before Mack milli's, mack 11's and four-four's Me and my nigga Shawn What you got weight on your shoulders The freons gettin colder Me and my nigga Deion's hittin corners I got a beam on you chest-high Fuck around and get your fuckin chest right I spreads like bad news Bitches get played like the blues Blowin dicks like whistles Launch like missles Pop like pistols And confuse, misuse, enthuse, abuse, buy the twos Cuz I refuse to chill like EP I prefer to get high live with the DP You ain't raw nigga You more like subtle Fuck you and your rebuttal You laid in a puddle It's a storm, form reform your label form Keep calm or keep drippin in the twist of the swarm (Chorus) Kurupt, young Gotti West Coast, East Coast nigga Raw doggs (Chorus) Gimmewhutchagot nigga Gimmewhutchagot nigga |
|
Last added lyrics |
---|
Christmas Fantasy by Anita Baker |
It Ain't What U Wear It's How U Play It by Another Bad Creation |
Ghetto Bill by Master P |
The Massacre by 50 Cent |
Wanna Go Back by Eddie Money |