|
|
|
- 390,488 lyrics
- 24,313 artists
|
|
|
Viewing Lyrics for G.O.D. Pt. III:
| | | Artist: | Mobb Deep |
| | Album: | Miscellaneous | | Track: | G.O.D. Pt. III | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 174 | | | | Lyrics: | Some of that 151 Son (yeah some of that bogus)
("What you got in the trunk?")
Aight
aiyyo Son yo yo
You think that motherfuckin nigga's out there right now Son?
(Word what
he doin out here?)
Son we got drama with that nigga
Be tryin to fuckin front last week
(What that kid out there? Yo I seen that nigga earlier knahmsayin?)
Nah fuck that go go
open the window real quick Son
Open that fuckin window
(You gonna take him from the
window nigga?)
Yo hold up
That, there go, that's that nigga right there Son?
Right
next to the basketball court?
(Yeah yeah, that's the one)
Oh shit! C'mere c'mere c'mere
c'mere, turn the lights out
(I got somethin too Son, that's how we do)
Turn the lights
out, c'mon through
*sounds of clips and an automatic being cocked*
(Back up, back up,
they lookin)
Aiyyo Son, I'ma hit that nigga right now Son
Word to mom I'ma hit him out
the window Son
*Twilight Zone in the background*
(Yo you BUGGIN Son!)
Heh nhah
chill 'Zo, fuck that
I'ma hit that nigga right out the motherfuckin window
(Ga head Son,
go head man!)
Hold up (You want somebody go bust him!)
Nah fuck that I'ma hit this nigga
out the window Son
(Ga head man!)
Shit shit shit don't blow it up, duck down
(Yo
let me do it man, let me do it, go head)
*two shots, eighteen shots, seven shots*
Yeah
yeah yeah, yeah nigga, yeah!
Yeah! (gimme gimme gimme gimme)
*two shots*
Fucker!
(What?)
Chorus: Mobb Deep
(Yo it's the) G.O.D., Father Pt. III
QBC,
sip lime Bacardia
Heavy on the wrist, cube-link, my ice ring
Drama we bring, yeah/yo
that's a small thing
(repeat 2X)
Verse One: Prodigy
Awright now,
pay attention to the crime rhyme Houdini P
Keepin you niggaz in perspective
Mobb,
representative, call me the specialist
Professional, professor at this rap science
Up in
the labratory, here's why your small rhyme bore me
Store bought rap ain't shit, my category
is that of an insane who strike back (what?)
I draw first blood, it's over with, and
that's that
You wanna square off, forsake and slice that cat
You get splashed, from back
of your head, to ass crack
Surgical signs to the end, with iron map
Which bring,
apocalypse to this game called rap
Not a game but quite serious and yo in fact
You'll be
runnin for dear life so far you might fall off the map
Fuckin with P, you need a gat
At
least to have the opportunity to bust back
First shot the motherfucker pack around world
premier
Shook individual bound from blind fear
Scared to death niggaz fall to they worst
fear
My retail's in braille, for vision impaired
You lookin for P, well you can find him
everywhere
In a project near you, I'll be right there
I was brought up and taught to
have no fear (now)
Live wire niggaz stay behind me in the rear (now)
Cowardly hearts,
step aside, stand clear (fear)
My bloodthirsty niggaz got they eyes on you
QBC, lime
Bacardia, G.O.D. Father Pt. III
On some hashish, to Embassy Suite, crash your party
Chorus: repeat 2X
Verse Two: Havoc
Yeah yo, lime Bacardi, gettin bent,
crash the party
Handle B-I, bringin it to anybody
Physical damage, crowd control handle
cannons
Hittin you ripped, leave your bloodstream contamin-ed
While you actin out of
character, we observin
Drillin em down so hard, I know we felt you comin at em
Hennessee
raps float like the Phantom
Runnin you up out of the spot in which you standin
Never
second-guess a cat who hold gat
Concealed, but easily revealed and fast
Body castin raps
to get your back snapped in half
and severed, impossible pain beyond measure
Sheisty
living brought him to his last bread (bread)
Life changed around quick to one stead (stead)
Face full of fear, conquerin your ice grill (grill)
Tragedies, put him to sleep like
NyQuil (NyQuil)
Givin a overdose of this rap potent
Potentially dangerous, fatally left
open
for the roaches, scavengers, that's EMS
Funeral homes, anticipatin your death
That's the dead truth, check in the morgue, you'll find proof
Enough to make you think and
stop before your ship sink
to the bottom, night owl leave the mark and spot him
You know
the routine, face up before I shot him
Chorus: repeat 4X | | | |
 Add to del.icio.us
 Digg this
 Reddit
Share on Facebook
|
|
More Mobb Deep Lyrics:
|
| 1. | Get At Me view | | 2. | Cradle to the Grave (Freestyle) view | | 3. | U.S.A. (Aiight Then) view | | 4. | Get It Twisted view | | 5. | Sweet Home Alabama Freestyle view | | 6. | Hell on Earth Front Lines view | | 7. | Shook Ones (Part II) view | | 8. | Hectic view | | 9. | Still Shinin view | | 10. | Cant Fuck Wit view |
|
|
