|
Mr. Pookie - Crook Playa lyrics
[Mr. Lucci] Introducin Mr. Lucci, tha wig split loco Unfuckwitable crook have yo whole gang in a choke hold I run wit 4 niggaz that's so cold and I'm known for gettin dirty I smack niggaz for 30-30's, dispersin slugs in a hurry Cant let no nigga disturb me or interrupt me when I'm on my mission Watchin these niggaz scurry from choppers wit clip extentions All hataz be flinchin when I appear in they dimension Strivin on bad intentions puttin niggaz life up on suspension Jus aint a normal nigga, I be that diabolical figure Straight weeded left all dead, they braided up lookin slicker Crooked scissorhands and Tha Rippla got my back down 4 whateva I'm a 16, smokin clever, 155 A devil AKA tha crooked rebel wit a neck full of gold and ice pebbles All my Stoneycrook brothaz stay flossed out to tha top level Mr. Lucci neva settle wit punk boyz on hate shit Whoopin niggaz azz, quick and fast like an agent on Matrix Chorus Who dat blowin big killa in tha back of tha club Who dat choosin real women while deletin tha scrubs Who dat rollin up tha cake, Who's a crook in tha place Who dem ipsy tipsy playaz from Tha Lone Star State We tha cats you dunno takin ova thangz We tha cats who don pulled akickdoe on tha game We tha ones wit tha guns, we tha crew wit tha juice We dem crook typed playaz boy dont let us get loose [Mr. Pookie] Open yo eyes wide playa, take notice of me Aint no quittin while I'm rippin, no intentions to flee Got my calvary posted now tell me, wha ya'll wanna do? Got no time for ya boastin ya think ya bad wit yo crew Now who's tha victim left to breath on tha mic He cant handle me really so now he agged and wanna fight I'm tha hype of tha party, tha ammo and a clip Take a breather 4 I leave ya face down where you sit And tha competition, oh they get flattin by bows Cause we aint bowin down, busta think he bad cause he older I'ma show ya, time to pick tha place up in tha check and shit And if you aint no Dallas sho nuff to be reckoned wit Pick a betta click wit a mass of foes ( And wha?) Let tha record show how we surpass em though Now wha you maskin 4? Who it is? It's Tha Rippla turnin heads when I enter Tha Pookie wit tha Mista Chorus [Mr. Pookie] Now we got em lookin got em all up in our grill We cant stop we 2 crooked, so its like pass me tha kill On tha real, I'm chillin, so they betta make way Got Lucci spittin some venom, y these bustaz wanna hate? So say wha u say and we gon do wha we do Continue to drop platinum azz hitz by tha crew I'm used to bein smokin on a regular basis Refuse to be, sellin dope and catchin these cases I choose to be, tight up on my game like a pro Smashin on these hoes, and makin tha big doe Behold, Mr. Pookie slash Rippla Jones I been livin like a crook since tha day I was born On my own homie, I spit tha game how I feel Its time to let em all know its about to get real Tha deal is playa, keep yo hands off, watch that damn talk And proceed to leave so please walk Chorus |
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Last added lyrics |
|---|
 Fornika by Die Fantastischen Vier |
 Lost and Found by Will Smith |
 Waiting for the Punchline by Extreme |
 Icky Thump by The White Stripes |
 Wanna Go Back by Eddie Money |
