歌曲 | Now Y |
歌手 | LA the Darkman |
专辑 | Heist of the Century |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : BJackson, Broady, Jackson | |
Yeah. Yeah. | |
Yo. Yo. Yo. | |
Trapacanti. | |
Yo. [Chorus: La The Darkman] | |
When I walk these streets, like bamboo, | |
I'm strapped | |
Get your brain tapped by fourty-four caliber gats | |
It ain't like that, cats gotta learn to relax | |
If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you're on your ass [La The Darkman] | |
If you see at cat without his vest hangin by his neck | |
Then La done it, | |
I'm tryin to see this benz six-hundred | |
With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin blunted | |
Readin the tablet of my money from the kids that | |
I fronted | |
You don't want it, shootin slugs outta an armored green lex > | |
From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck | |
Don't gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye | |
My style, top secret like a | |
Bosnian spy | |
Now Y, New | |
York have you laced in chalk | |
The South | |
Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? | |
It's bloodsport, the | |
Darkman call it like he sees | |
Been in buildings, doin eighty in a black m3 | |
Medallion swingin a linx, costin bount ten g's | |
N.Y.C., where killas bust cops at me [Chorus] [La The Darkman] | |
New York ain't fuckin playas, we live gun sprayers | |
Movin crack frm the streets of | |
Manhatt' to the | |
Himalayans | |
Amadeus, why these | |
Cali craps tryin to front? | |
Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin to bungee jump | |
Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers in bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers | |
I stay fly, holdin it down for my block | |
What up ock? | |
You could get a four-four shot | |
And don't think it can't happen cuz you on the | |
T.V. rappin | |
I sneakin from | |
B.X., B.K. and the | |
Staten Manhatten and | |
Queens jookin kids for rings | |
New York, | |
New York, the big city of dreams | |
Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed | |
Now I'm back like | |
LL, when he was rockin the bells | |
Takin rap back to the days of foodstamps and tramps | |
Pit stains in the stair case and vise-grip clamps | |
Kid, I'm amped, cats try to diss the originators | |
In Land Cruisers, on | |
Timbs, subways and elevators | |
Holdin steel, you frontin niggaz better get real | |
I'm gettin money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill | |
How you feel? | |
And fuck where you at, it's where you from | |
To that cats, that's eighty-five: blind, deaf and dumb | |
Run and get your gun, | |
I come in the name of | |
Allah To my people, the | |
Inglewood family swine, power refined | |
You can't see, we runnin outta time | |
If the east and west kill eachother, who gon' shine? | |
We losin our mind, the rap shit is turnin into crime | |
Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines | |
So, what? |
zuo qu : BJackson, Broady, Jackson | |
Yeah. Yeah. | |
Yo. Yo. Yo. | |
Trapacanti. | |
Yo. Chorus: La The Darkman | |
When I walk these streets, like bamboo, | |
I' m strapped | |
Get your brain tapped by fourtyfour caliber gats | |
It ain' t like that, cats gotta learn to relax | |
If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you' re on your ass La The Darkman | |
If you see at cat without his vest hangin by his neck | |
Then La done it, | |
I' m tryin to see this benz sixhundred | |
With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin blunted | |
Readin the tablet of my money from the kids that | |
I fronted | |
You don' t want it, shootin slugs outta an armored green lex | |
From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck | |
Don' t gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye | |
My style, top secret like a | |
Bosnian spy | |
Now Y, New | |
York have you laced in chalk | |
The South | |
Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? | |
It' s bloodsport, the | |
Darkman call it like he sees | |
Been in buildings, doin eighty in a black m3 | |
Medallion swingin a linx, costin bount ten g' s | |
N. Y. C., where killas bust cops at me Chorus La The Darkman | |
New York ain' t fuckin playas, we live gun sprayers | |
Movin crack frm the streets of | |
Manhatt' to the | |
Himalayans | |
Amadeus, why these | |
Cali craps tryin to front? | |
Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin to bungee jump | |
Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers in bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers | |
I stay fly, holdin it down for my block | |
What up ock? | |
You could get a fourfour shot | |
And don' t think it can' t happen cuz you on the | |
T. V. rappin | |
I sneakin from | |
B. X., B. K. and the | |
Staten Manhatten and | |
Queens jookin kids for rings | |
New York, | |
New York, the big city of dreams | |
Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed | |
Now I' m back like | |
LL, when he was rockin the bells | |
Takin rap back to the days of foodstamps and tramps | |
Pit stains in the stair case and visegrip clamps | |
Kid, I' m amped, cats try to diss the originators | |
In Land Cruisers, on | |
Timbs, subways and elevators | |
Holdin steel, you frontin niggaz better get real | |
I' m gettin money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill | |
How you feel? | |
And fuck where you at, it' s where you from | |
To that cats, that' s eightyfive: blind, deaf and dumb | |
Run and get your gun, | |
I come in the name of | |
Allah To my people, the | |
Inglewood family swine, power refined | |
You can' t see, we runnin outta time | |
If the east and west kill eachother, who gon' shine? | |
We losin our mind, the rap shit is turnin into crime | |
Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines | |
So, what? |
zuò qǔ : BJackson, Broady, Jackson | |
Yeah. Yeah. | |
Yo. Yo. Yo. | |
Trapacanti. | |
Yo. Chorus: La The Darkman | |
When I walk these streets, like bamboo, | |
I' m strapped | |
Get your brain tapped by fourtyfour caliber gats | |
It ain' t like that, cats gotta learn to relax | |
If I let the gun clap, you have no wish, you' re on your ass La The Darkman | |
If you see at cat without his vest hangin by his neck | |
Then La done it, | |
I' m tryin to see this benz sixhundred | |
With a fly bitch, a gat and cognac gettin blunted | |
Readin the tablet of my money from the kids that | |
I fronted | |
You don' t want it, shootin slugs outta an armored green lex | |
From four pounds that fuck you up like a plane wreck | |
Don' t gamble with a tech, car is quicker than the eye | |
My style, top secret like a | |
Bosnian spy | |
Now Y, New | |
York have you laced in chalk | |
The South | |
Bronx, what you thought when we let are guns talk? | |
It' s bloodsport, the | |
Darkman call it like he sees | |
Been in buildings, doin eighty in a black m3 | |
Medallion swingin a linx, costin bount ten g' s | |
N. Y. C., where killas bust cops at me Chorus La The Darkman | |
New York ain' t fuckin playas, we live gun sprayers | |
Movin crack frm the streets of | |
Manhatt' to the | |
Himalayans | |
Amadeus, why these | |
Cali craps tryin to front? | |
Ass gotta cut ropes, tryin to bungee jump | |
Tight cunt, all white planes roll, we night creepers in bubble coats, eight hundred beapers, force one sneakers | |
I stay fly, holdin it down for my block | |
What up ock? | |
You could get a fourfour shot | |
And don' t think it can' t happen cuz you on the | |
T. V. rappin | |
I sneakin from | |
B. X., B. K. and the | |
Staten Manhatten and | |
Queens jookin kids for rings | |
New York, | |
New York, the big city of dreams | |
Some rap legends were put in jail, you thought we failed | |
Now I' m back like | |
LL, when he was rockin the bells | |
Takin rap back to the days of foodstamps and tramps | |
Pit stains in the stair case and visegrip clamps | |
Kid, I' m amped, cats try to diss the originators | |
In Land Cruisers, on | |
Timbs, subways and elevators | |
Holdin steel, you frontin niggaz better get real | |
I' m gettin money, blow my nose with a hundred dollar bill | |
How you feel? | |
And fuck where you at, it' s where you from | |
To that cats, that' s eightyfive: blind, deaf and dumb | |
Run and get your gun, | |
I come in the name of | |
Allah To my people, the | |
Inglewood family swine, power refined | |
You can' t see, we runnin outta time | |
If the east and west kill eachother, who gon' shine? | |
We losin our mind, the rap shit is turnin into crime | |
Nowadays soft niggaz bust techs and nines | |
So, what? |