D-Boyz Got Love for Me 歌词
| 歌曲 | D-Boyz Got Love for Me |
| 歌手 | Spice 1 |
| 专辑 | AmeriKKKa's Nightmare |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Green, Reed, Stevens | |
| (feat. E-40) | |
| (Intro: Spice 1) | |
| What's wrong nigga? What's wrong huh? | |
| You scared nigga? You scared? | |
| What, you can't talk with a motherfuckin' gun in your mouth nigga? | |
| I'm gonna give you a three count | |
| I'ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out | |
| One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? | |
| I'm proud, two (kinda slick motherfucker) | |
| (*Gun blast*) | |
| Nineteen motherfuckin' nine-fo' comin' at cha | |
| Gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gi-gangsta Spice motherfuckin' 1 | |
| (Spice 1) | |
| I eat they ass up like a Swason with the Thompson | |
| fo'-fever, leave a - motherfuckin' crime 'fore he take his last breather | |
| So come along take a trip to the dirt track | |
| Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back | |
| That's why it's A to the motherfuckin' yay | |
| keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay | |
| mainly off gat, I'm goin' brain dead inside | |
| Talkin' to my homies 'Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride | |
| on the nigga that peeled his cap so now I'm on the streets | |
| With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat | |
| And it's fo' to the motherfuckin' five | |
| G-a-gat that ass leave 'em dead in the ives | |
| Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut | |
| Niggas better back up, while I fix my sack up | |
| Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick | |
| Quick to rip shit, cause I'm a Coca Cola Classic | |
| O.G. and D-Boyz got love for me, D-Boyz got love for me | |
| (*Interlude*) | |
| (E-40) | |
| Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha | |
| Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha | |
| (Spice 1) | |
| I'ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn | |
| like jump like Red gone, nigga I'll be ready the funk is on | |
| So call up the Paramedics and tell 'em that you're dyin' nigga | |
| I roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin' trigger | |
| I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack | |
| Now he's a stiff black, cause I was at that | |
| I'm dumpin' these niggas in ditches back to back | |
| Hangin' they ass from telephone posts | |
| to leavin' 'em makin' 'em bleed without no money | |
| Gun me, hoe niggas wanna do that, do that | |
| But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let 'em have it | |
| Nigga, so D-Boyz got love for me | |
| (E-40) | |
| I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me | |
| I got love for D-Boyz, cause D-Boyz got love for me | |
| Nigga got outta line I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my draws and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) | |
| Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my fudadalooms and pulled out my strap (pull out your strap) | |
| Nigga got outta place, youse got to pop him | |
| Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) | |
| Rookie get outta line you better ice him | |
| Reach into your d-dun-dun-duns and pull out your strap (pull out your strap) | |
| Just call me Chef Boyardee-Boy, soda for bakin' | |
| Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I'm makin' huh | |
| Tall cash, can't let eat up my grass | |
| Don't make me have to come back and split your parents house in half | |
| with my 6RP226-Diana Ross cousin Nina - Mr. Meaner, body bleeder | |
| Heartless, empty the cartridge roll | |
| Smartless, get out and die so cold | |
| Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic | |
| I lives up the bar like an Alcoholic | |
| Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I tell 'em I'm a good shot | |
| But I'm also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings | |
| So bitch, I'm tryin' to get nickerage | |
| Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh | |
| (Outro: Spice 1 & E-40) | |
| Shoot 'em up now | |
| Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for nine-four | |
| Da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha | |
| Shoot 'em up now, byd-a-bye-bye | |
| Blaow! (Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga hahahahaha) | |
| They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one | |
| Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, byd-a-bye-bye | |
| Chill man, me roll down the block with my nigga | |
| Byd-a-bye-bye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass | |
| Chill man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task | |
| (What's a 7-0-7 on er... your trunk nigga?) 5-10 | |
| (4-1-5's?), yeah (That's four-fifteens if y'all bitches didn't know) | |
| Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes | |
| (Da-tha-tha, sing it with me, da-tha-tha-da-tha-tha, ah yeah) | |
| (*Whistling*) |
| zuo ci : Green, Reed, Stevens | |
| feat. E40 | |
| Intro: Spice 1 | |
| What' s wrong nigga? What' s wrong huh? | |
| You scared nigga? You scared? | |
| What, you can' t talk with a motherfuckin' gun in your mouth nigga? | |
| I' m gonna give you a three count | |
| I' ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out | |
| One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? | |
| I' m proud, two kinda slick motherfucker | |
| Gun blast | |
| Nineteen motherfuckin' ninefo' comin' at cha | |
| Gigigigigigigigigangsta Spice motherfuckin' 1 | |
| Spice 1 | |
| I eat they ass up like a Swason with the Thompson | |
| fo' fever, leave a motherfuckin' crime ' fore he take his last breather | |
| So come along take a trip to the dirt track | |
| Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back | |
| That' s why it' s A to the motherfuckin' yay | |
| keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay | |
| mainly off gat, I' m goin' brain dead inside | |
| Talkin' to my homies ' Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride | |
| on the nigga that peeled his cap so now I' m on the streets | |
| With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat | |
| And it' s fo' to the motherfuckin' five | |
| Gagat that ass leave ' em dead in the ives | |
| Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut | |
| Niggas better back up, while I fix my sack up | |
| Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick | |
| Quick to rip shit, cause I' m a Coca Cola Classic | |
| O. G. and DBoyz got love for me, DBoyz got love for me | |
| Interlude | |
| E40 | |
| Dathathadathathadathathadathatha | |
| Dathathadathathadathathadathatha | |
| Spice 1 | |
| I' ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn | |
| like jump like Red gone, nigga I' ll be ready the funk is on | |
| So call up the Paramedics and tell ' em that you' re dyin' nigga | |
| I roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin' trigger | |
| I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack | |
| Now he' s a stiff black, cause I was at that | |
| I' m dumpin' these niggas in ditches back to back | |
| Hangin' they ass from telephone posts | |
| to leavin' ' em makin' ' em bleed without no money | |
| Gun me, hoe niggas wanna do that, do that | |
| But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let ' em have it | |
| Nigga, so DBoyz got love for me | |
| E40 | |
| I got love for DBoyz, cause DBoyz got love for me | |
| I got love for DBoyz, cause DBoyz got love for me | |
| Nigga got outta line I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my draws and pulled out my strap pull out your strap | |
| Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my fudadalooms and pulled out my strap pull out your strap | |
| Nigga got outta place, youse got to pop him | |
| Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap pull out your strap | |
| Rookie get outta line you better ice him | |
| Reach into your ddundunduns and pull out your strap pull out your strap | |
| Just call me Chef BoyardeeBoy, soda for bakin' | |
| Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I' m makin' huh | |
| Tall cash, can' t let eat up my grass | |
| Don' t make me have to come back and split your parents house in half | |
| with my 6RP226Diana Ross cousin Nina Mr. Meaner, body bleeder | |
| Heartless, empty the cartridge roll | |
| Smartless, get out and die so cold | |
| Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic | |
| I lives up the bar like an Alcoholic | |
| Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I tell ' em I' m a good shot | |
| But I' m also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings | |
| So bitch, I' m tryin' to get nickerage | |
| Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh | |
| Outro: Spice 1 E40 | |
| Shoot ' em up now | |
| Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for ninefour | |
| Dathathadathathadathatha | |
| Shoot ' em up now, bydabyebye | |
| Blaow! Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga hahahahaha | |
| They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one | |
| Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, bydabyebye | |
| Chill man, me roll down the block with my nigga | |
| Bydabyebye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass | |
| Chill man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task | |
| What' s a 707 on er... your trunk nigga? 510 | |
| 415' s?, yeah That' s fourfifteens if y' all bitches didn' t know | |
| Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes | |
| Dathatha, sing it with me, dathathadathatha, ah yeah | |
| Whistling |
| zuò cí : Green, Reed, Stevens | |
| feat. E40 | |
| Intro: Spice 1 | |
| What' s wrong nigga? What' s wrong huh? | |
| You scared nigga? You scared? | |
| What, you can' t talk with a motherfuckin' gun in your mouth nigga? | |
| I' m gonna give you a three count | |
| I' ma blow your motherfuckin' brains out | |
| One, what you think about, what you thinkin'? | |
| I' m proud, two kinda slick motherfucker | |
| Gun blast | |
| Nineteen motherfuckin' ninefo' comin' at cha | |
| Gigigigigigigigigangsta Spice motherfuckin' 1 | |
| Spice 1 | |
| I eat they ass up like a Swason with the Thompson | |
| fo' fever, leave a motherfuckin' crime ' fore he take his last breather | |
| So come along take a trip to the dirt track | |
| Where the young niggas be takin' your car and be peelin' your cap back | |
| That' s why it' s A to the motherfuckin' yay | |
| keeps a fat gat for the funk in the East Bay | |
| mainly off gat, I' m goin' brain dead inside | |
| Talkin' to my homies ' Scratchy' tellin' me he wanna ride | |
| on the nigga that peeled his cap so now I' m on the streets | |
| With the dead motherfucker in the passenger seat | |
| And it' s fo' to the motherfuckin' five | |
| Gagat that ass leave ' em dead in the ives | |
| Red Rum on the late night, catch my case right at the crack hut | |
| Niggas better back up, while I fix my sack up | |
| Pistol whip, shit, kick that ass quick | |
| Quick to rip shit, cause I' m a Coca Cola Classic | |
| O. G. and DBoyz got love for me, DBoyz got love for me | |
| Interlude | |
| E40 | |
| Dathathadathathadathathadathatha | |
| Dathathadathathadathathadathatha | |
| Spice 1 | |
| I' ma chuck a dead body on your motherfuckin' lawn | |
| like jump like Red gone, nigga I' ll be ready the funk is on | |
| So call up the Paramedics and tell ' em that you' re dyin' nigga | |
| I roll strapped with no love upon my fuckin' trigger | |
| I lets my hair platt, and took his mail stack | |
| Now he' s a stiff black, cause I was at that | |
| I' m dumpin' these niggas in ditches back to back | |
| Hangin' they ass from telephone posts | |
| to leavin' ' em makin' ' em bleed without no money | |
| Gun me, hoe niggas wanna do that, do that | |
| But I go out and get a new gat, new gat and let ' em have it | |
| Nigga, so DBoyz got love for me | |
| E40 | |
| I got love for DBoyz, cause DBoyz got love for me | |
| I got love for DBoyz, cause DBoyz got love for me | |
| Nigga got outta line I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my draws and pulled out my strap pull out your strap | |
| Motherfucker got outta place I had to chop him | |
| Reached into my fudadalooms and pulled out my strap pull out your strap | |
| Nigga got outta place, youse got to pop him | |
| Reach up in your draws and pull out your strap pull out your strap | |
| Rookie get outta line you better ice him | |
| Reach into your ddundunduns and pull out your strap pull out your strap | |
| Just call me Chef BoyardeeBoy, soda for bakin' | |
| Cupcakes and cookies, rappies I' m makin' huh | |
| Tall cash, can' t let eat up my grass | |
| Don' t make me have to come back and split your parents house in half | |
| with my 6RP226Diana Ross cousin Nina Mr. Meaner, body bleeder | |
| Heartless, empty the cartridge roll | |
| Smartless, get out and die so cold | |
| Hollow point hot ones dipped in garlic | |
| I lives up the bar like an Alcoholic | |
| Niggas think that I be bluffin' when I tell ' em I' m a good shot | |
| But I' m also into some other things like ice picks and piano strings | |
| So bitch, I' m tryin' to get nickerage | |
| Open up shop, cotton candy and liquorice, uh | |
| Outro: Spice 1 E40 | |
| Shoot ' em up now | |
| Blaow! Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass for ninefour | |
| Dathathadathathadathatha | |
| Shoot ' em up now, bydabyebye | |
| Blaow! Spiggity sp, sp, spiggity sp, sp, spit nigga hahahahaha | |
| They call me Spiggity one, Spiggity one | |
| Me bust a cap up in your ass with big black gun, bydabyebye | |
| Chill man, me roll down the block with my nigga | |
| Bydabyebye, Spiggidy one whippin' up on dat ass | |
| Chill man, livin' in the city is a motherfuckin' task | |
| What' s a 707 on er... your trunk nigga? 510 | |
| 415' s?, yeah That' s fourfifteens if y' all bitches didn' t know | |
| Yeah bitch, stupid ass hoes | |
| Dathatha, sing it with me, dathathadathatha, ah yeah | |
| Whistling |
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