歌曲 | Stranded on Death Row |
歌手 | Dr. Dre |
专辑 | The Chronic [Re-Lit and From the Vault] |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作词 : Kurupt, Rage, RBX, Snoop ... | |
Artist:dr. dre featuring kurupt, lady of rage, rbx, snoop doggy dogg | |
Intro:bushwick bill | |
Yes, it is i says me | |
And although me | |
By morning three, cause they're weak | |
*laughter* | |
Yes, yo!, i'm in the house now for sure | |
Because i wanna talk about the hearts of men | |
Who knows what evil lurks within them | |
But lets take a travel down the blindside | |
And see what we find on this... | |
Path... | |
Called... | |
Verse one: kurupt | |
Stranded on death row, so duck when i swing my *************t | |
I get rugged like rawhead rex with fat tracks that fits | |
The gangsta type, what i recite's kinda lethal | |
*************z know, the flow that i kick, there's no refill | |
I'm murderin *************z, yo, and maybe because of the tone | |
I kicks my grip, the mic and kick *************t | |
*************z can't ************* with | |
So remember i go hardcore, and slam | |
Nuff respect like a sensei, ba-bash like van damme | |
So any ************* that claim they bossin | |
What don't you bring your ass on over to crenshaw and slauson | |
Take a walk through the hood, and we up to no good | |
Slangin on things like a real ho | |
G should, i'm stackin and mackin and packin a ten so | |
When you're slippin, i slip the clip in | |
But ain't no steady tripppin | |
Cause it's death row, rollin like the mafia | |
Think about whoopin some ass, but what the ************* stoppin ya | |
Ain't nathin but a buster | |
I'm stranded on death row for pumpin slugs in mother******s | |
Now you know you're outdone | |
Feel the shotgun, korrupt inmate cell block one | |
Verse two: rbx | |
No prevention from this mention of sorts | |
Your're a victim, from my driveby of thoughts | |
No extensions, all attempts are to fail | |
Blinded by the light, it's time you learn braile | |
From the lunatic, i death like arsenic | |
When i kick up wicked raps | |
That the grain will hit the scratch | |
With treachery, my literary form will blast | |
And totally surpass the norm | |
Not a storm, plural, make it, many storms | |
When i'm vexed, i fly leg necks and arms | |
In this dimension, i'm the presenter | |
And the inventor, and the tormentor | |
Deranged, like the hillside strangler | |
Mc mangler, tough like wrangler | |
I write a rhyme, hard as concrete | |
Step to the heat and get burned like mesquite | |
So what you wanna do | |
The narrator rbx, cell block two | |
Verse three: lady of rage | |
Rage, lyrical murderer | |
Stranded on death row | |
And now i'm servin a lifetime sentence | |
There'll be no repentence | |
Since it's the life that i choose to lead | |
I plead guilty | |
On all counts let the ball bounce where it may | |
It's just another clip into my ak | |
Buck em down with my underground tactics | |
Facts and stacks of clips on my matress | |
Bed frame there's another dead pain | |
Layin lain with the shame, who's to blame | |
Me, the lady of rage | |
On when i'm comin from the d-e-a-t-h in | |
R-o-w takin, no *************t | |
So flip and you're bound to get dropped | |
It's 187 on mother******s don't stop | |
Handcuffed as i bust there'll be no debate | |
It's rage, from cell block eight | |
Verse four: snoop doggy dogg | |
And yo steppin through the fog | |
And creepin through the smog | |
It's the number one ************* from the hood, doggy dogg | |
Makin videos, now i stay in hollywood | |
Bustin raps for my snaps now they call me eastwood | |
Dre is the doctor and my homey little ************* | |
Warren g is my hand and my hand's on the trigga | |
Shootin at the hoes with the game that i got | |
Sent to death row cause i wanted to make a quick one servin my rocks | |
And i'm still, servin for mines, peace | |
To my mother****** homies doin time | |
In the pen and the county jail | |
Mobbin with your blues on, mad as hell | |
And you say yeah ************* the police | |
And all the homies on the streets is all about peace | |
And it's drivin the cops crazy | |
But ain't nuttin but a black thing bay-bee, uhhh | |
No i'm not flaggin, but i'm just saggin | |
I betcha don't wanna see the d-o double g | |
And you can't see, the d-r to the e | |
Or my mother****** homey d.o.c. | |
You know you can't ************* with my mother****** dj | |
That's my homey and we call him warren g | |
Yeah, and you don't stop | |
Doggy dogg break em down with the mother****** dogg pound | |
That's the only way we'll beat em man | |
We gotta smoke em, then choke em | |
Like the mother****** peter man | |
It's like three and to the two | |
And two and to the one | |
Cell block four peace doggy dogg's done | |
Outtro : bushwick bill | |
Yo, now you know the path i'm on | |
You think you're strong, see if you can travel on | |
Cause only the weak, will try to speak | |
Those who are quiet, will always cause riots | |
There's three types of people in the world | |
Those who don't know what happened | |
Those who wonder what happened | |
And people like us from the streets that make things happen! |
zuo ci : Kurupt, Rage, RBX, Snoop ... | |
Artist: dr. dre featuring kurupt, lady of rage, rbx, snoop doggy dogg | |
Intro: bushwick bill | |
Yes, it is i says me | |
And although me | |
By morning three, cause they' re weak | |
laughter | |
Yes, yo!, i' m in the house now for sure | |
Because i wanna talk about the hearts of men | |
Who knows what evil lurks within them | |
But lets take a travel down the blindside | |
And see what we find on this... | |
Path... | |
Called... | |
Verse one: kurupt | |
Stranded on death row, so duck when i swing my t | |
I get rugged like rawhead rex with fat tracks that fits | |
The gangsta type, what i recite' s kinda lethal | |
z know, the flow that i kick, there' s no refill | |
I' m murderin z, yo, and maybe because of the tone | |
I kicks my grip, the mic and kick t | |
z can' t with | |
So remember i go hardcore, and slam | |
Nuff respect like a sensei, babash like van damme | |
So any that claim they bossin | |
What don' t you bring your ass on over to crenshaw and slauson | |
Take a walk through the hood, and we up to no good | |
Slangin on things like a real ho | |
G should, i' m stackin and mackin and packin a ten so | |
When you' re slippin, i slip the clip in | |
But ain' t no steady tripppin | |
Cause it' s death row, rollin like the mafia | |
Think about whoopin some ass, but what the stoppin ya | |
Ain' t nathin but a buster | |
I' m stranded on death row for pumpin slugs in mother s | |
Now you know you' re outdone | |
Feel the shotgun, korrupt inmate cell block one | |
Verse two: rbx | |
No prevention from this mention of sorts | |
Your' re a victim, from my driveby of thoughts | |
No extensions, all attempts are to fail | |
Blinded by the light, it' s time you learn braile | |
From the lunatic, i death like arsenic | |
When i kick up wicked raps | |
That the grain will hit the scratch | |
With treachery, my literary form will blast | |
And totally surpass the norm | |
Not a storm, plural, make it, many storms | |
When i' m vexed, i fly leg necks and arms | |
In this dimension, i' m the presenter | |
And the inventor, and the tormentor | |
Deranged, like the hillside strangler | |
Mc mangler, tough like wrangler | |
I write a rhyme, hard as concrete | |
Step to the heat and get burned like mesquite | |
So what you wanna do | |
The narrator rbx, cell block two | |
Verse three: lady of rage | |
Rage, lyrical murderer | |
Stranded on death row | |
And now i' m servin a lifetime sentence | |
There' ll be no repentence | |
Since it' s the life that i choose to lead | |
I plead guilty | |
On all counts let the ball bounce where it may | |
It' s just another clip into my ak | |
Buck em down with my underground tactics | |
Facts and stacks of clips on my matress | |
Bed frame there' s another dead pain | |
Layin lain with the shame, who' s to blame | |
Me, the lady of rage | |
On when i' m comin from the death in | |
Row takin, no t | |
So flip and you' re bound to get dropped | |
It' s 187 on mother s don' t stop | |
Handcuffed as i bust there' ll be no debate | |
It' s rage, from cell block eight | |
Verse four: snoop doggy dogg | |
And yo steppin through the fog | |
And creepin through the smog | |
It' s the number one from the hood, doggy dogg | |
Makin videos, now i stay in hollywood | |
Bustin raps for my snaps now they call me eastwood | |
Dre is the doctor and my homey little | |
Warren g is my hand and my hand' s on the trigga | |
Shootin at the hoes with the game that i got | |
Sent to death row cause i wanted to make a quick one servin my rocks | |
And i' m still, servin for mines, peace | |
To my mother homies doin time | |
In the pen and the county jail | |
Mobbin with your blues on, mad as hell | |
And you say yeah the police | |
And all the homies on the streets is all about peace | |
And it' s drivin the cops crazy | |
But ain' t nuttin but a black thing baybee, uhhh | |
No i' m not flaggin, but i' m just saggin | |
I betcha don' t wanna see the do double g | |
And you can' t see, the dr to the e | |
Or my mother homey d. o. c. | |
You know you can' t with my mother dj | |
That' s my homey and we call him warren g | |
Yeah, and you don' t stop | |
Doggy dogg break em down with the mother dogg pound | |
That' s the only way we' ll beat em man | |
We gotta smoke em, then choke em | |
Like the mother peter man | |
It' s like three and to the two | |
And two and to the one | |
Cell block four peace doggy dogg' s done | |
Outtro : bushwick bill | |
Yo, now you know the path i' m on | |
You think you' re strong, see if you can travel on | |
Cause only the weak, will try to speak | |
Those who are quiet, will always cause riots | |
There' s three types of people in the world | |
Those who don' t know what happened | |
Those who wonder what happened | |
And people like us from the streets that make things happen! |
zuò cí : Kurupt, Rage, RBX, Snoop ... | |
Artist: dr. dre featuring kurupt, lady of rage, rbx, snoop doggy dogg | |
Intro: bushwick bill | |
Yes, it is i says me | |
And although me | |
By morning three, cause they' re weak | |
laughter | |
Yes, yo!, i' m in the house now for sure | |
Because i wanna talk about the hearts of men | |
Who knows what evil lurks within them | |
But lets take a travel down the blindside | |
And see what we find on this... | |
Path... | |
Called... | |
Verse one: kurupt | |
Stranded on death row, so duck when i swing my t | |
I get rugged like rawhead rex with fat tracks that fits | |
The gangsta type, what i recite' s kinda lethal | |
z know, the flow that i kick, there' s no refill | |
I' m murderin z, yo, and maybe because of the tone | |
I kicks my grip, the mic and kick t | |
z can' t with | |
So remember i go hardcore, and slam | |
Nuff respect like a sensei, babash like van damme | |
So any that claim they bossin | |
What don' t you bring your ass on over to crenshaw and slauson | |
Take a walk through the hood, and we up to no good | |
Slangin on things like a real ho | |
G should, i' m stackin and mackin and packin a ten so | |
When you' re slippin, i slip the clip in | |
But ain' t no steady tripppin | |
Cause it' s death row, rollin like the mafia | |
Think about whoopin some ass, but what the stoppin ya | |
Ain' t nathin but a buster | |
I' m stranded on death row for pumpin slugs in mother s | |
Now you know you' re outdone | |
Feel the shotgun, korrupt inmate cell block one | |
Verse two: rbx | |
No prevention from this mention of sorts | |
Your' re a victim, from my driveby of thoughts | |
No extensions, all attempts are to fail | |
Blinded by the light, it' s time you learn braile | |
From the lunatic, i death like arsenic | |
When i kick up wicked raps | |
That the grain will hit the scratch | |
With treachery, my literary form will blast | |
And totally surpass the norm | |
Not a storm, plural, make it, many storms | |
When i' m vexed, i fly leg necks and arms | |
In this dimension, i' m the presenter | |
And the inventor, and the tormentor | |
Deranged, like the hillside strangler | |
Mc mangler, tough like wrangler | |
I write a rhyme, hard as concrete | |
Step to the heat and get burned like mesquite | |
So what you wanna do | |
The narrator rbx, cell block two | |
Verse three: lady of rage | |
Rage, lyrical murderer | |
Stranded on death row | |
And now i' m servin a lifetime sentence | |
There' ll be no repentence | |
Since it' s the life that i choose to lead | |
I plead guilty | |
On all counts let the ball bounce where it may | |
It' s just another clip into my ak | |
Buck em down with my underground tactics | |
Facts and stacks of clips on my matress | |
Bed frame there' s another dead pain | |
Layin lain with the shame, who' s to blame | |
Me, the lady of rage | |
On when i' m comin from the death in | |
Row takin, no t | |
So flip and you' re bound to get dropped | |
It' s 187 on mother s don' t stop | |
Handcuffed as i bust there' ll be no debate | |
It' s rage, from cell block eight | |
Verse four: snoop doggy dogg | |
And yo steppin through the fog | |
And creepin through the smog | |
It' s the number one from the hood, doggy dogg | |
Makin videos, now i stay in hollywood | |
Bustin raps for my snaps now they call me eastwood | |
Dre is the doctor and my homey little | |
Warren g is my hand and my hand' s on the trigga | |
Shootin at the hoes with the game that i got | |
Sent to death row cause i wanted to make a quick one servin my rocks | |
And i' m still, servin for mines, peace | |
To my mother homies doin time | |
In the pen and the county jail | |
Mobbin with your blues on, mad as hell | |
And you say yeah the police | |
And all the homies on the streets is all about peace | |
And it' s drivin the cops crazy | |
But ain' t nuttin but a black thing baybee, uhhh | |
No i' m not flaggin, but i' m just saggin | |
I betcha don' t wanna see the do double g | |
And you can' t see, the dr to the e | |
Or my mother homey d. o. c. | |
You know you can' t with my mother dj | |
That' s my homey and we call him warren g | |
Yeah, and you don' t stop | |
Doggy dogg break em down with the mother dogg pound | |
That' s the only way we' ll beat em man | |
We gotta smoke em, then choke em | |
Like the mother peter man | |
It' s like three and to the two | |
And two and to the one | |
Cell block four peace doggy dogg' s done | |
Outtro : bushwick bill | |
Yo, now you know the path i' m on | |
You think you' re strong, see if you can travel on | |
Cause only the weak, will try to speak | |
Those who are quiet, will always cause riots | |
There' s three types of people in the world | |
Those who don' t know what happened | |
Those who wonder what happened | |
And people like us from the streets that make things happen! |