|
Brotha Lynch Hung - Death Dance lyrics
Til we run out the school, the school of hard knocks That's real Bout to show you somethin' new, don't worry about it Uh-huh, yeah [Verse 1] Never had a life, never had a wife I'd rather have a jack knife and creep through the night See my mind ain't right, just ran out of my Prozac (damn) This grind ain't right, I'm supposed to have fat stacks Certain people in my life, they didn't have my back It's hurtin' deep and I'm still fightin' to make a come up, you know what So I put the gun up, and I picked up the mic Then it all came out, it was a very bloody sight It was a very dark night, (pull out the tool) Do the death dance, I don't wanna see your hands 'til we (run out the school), school of hard knocks We tote glocks and punch holes in 'em like polka dots, scopin' plots It's nothin', I handle raps like I handle lacs Plus I, I handle this like I handle that I got skills in this battle rap, matter fact You could meet me in the back, and we could spit shit like mini macs How many times must I have to spit, patna? And how many nines must I have to grip? Cuz I rip shit like a ice pick and I hit up your block quick And if you can't see it you must got glock-coma I'm sicc in the head and I'm not sober [Chorus] x2 Do the death dance, (C'mon) Do the death dance, C'mon I don't wanna see your hands Do the death dance [Verse 2] See, I'm try'na do damage to your soil Half you niggas can get your brains wrapped up, in some aluminum foil I'm hard-boiled like John Woo, smoke bomb too You must be off that dope and dog food, I can make it all cool I've been stressed out, lookin' for the best route Sendin' out death certificates, what's this all about? I'ma be the next man to admit this, touch me if you wanna I had a close relationship with straight gin and Mary J-uana Crooked like every daytona, get that Smash out out in a glass house, first one in, last one out Put one in, take one out I make you take a bath in cold water with heavy shoes (ooh) I'm that fool that rips it up, them other fools bad news It's cold blue and I can make your body cold too He ain't the only one, we got heavy right out the Chevy And it's a cold, cold medley, them other thangs is petty Aight, everybody get ready [Chorus] x2 |
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 The Dutchess by Fergie |
 It Ain't What U Wear It's How U Play It by Another Bad Creation |
 Version by Mark Ronson |
 Icky Thump by The White Stripes |
 Twenty Four Seven by Tina Turner |
