Live To Tell feat. Godfather,Mr. 3-2,Clay Doe,Mike D

歌詞

Worldwide can feel us, fucking squealers Southside drug dealers, niggaz know us Southside Playaz, sit down at the table 2000 Any nigga sitting down huh, getting checks All the details, acting like some fucking females Bitch go count a nigga money, simp ass nigga Godfather: You rapping gift of gabbing, got the F.B.I. plotting Got H-Town hot, like the banging in Watts Trying to take me from my kids, you hot in a cot Got prices on your head, your life about to get bought 24 hours, is definite you get shot My homegirl fucked you, that's just the point of the plot Me and Pablo, doing devilish shit like Diablo Tyte Eyez out the gate, I got legitimate weight Mike D called me up, said some nigga was squealing Giving FED's photography, nigga street biographies Told Clay-Doe, was flying birds through Luado They said 3-2, was connected with some people This nigga see through, rope him up smoke him up Catch him coming home from the club drunk, and murdered the punk Throw him in the trunk, all about that snitching shit Who we copping from, who we in the kitchen with You might not live to tell, oh well These niggaz scared of jail, like hell Telling everything they know, like hoes You think it's all gravy, well bitch you gotta go You might not live to tell, oh well These niggaz scared of jail, like hell Telling everything they know, like hoes You think it's all gravy, well bitch you gotta go Mr. 3-2: Nigga own up to your case, and take your fucking charge Don't be a coward motherfucker, when them laws snap the corde He found barred that's infinity, you better open your mouth Don't be scared till the bitch die, to hit that jail house In the South it done got hot, federal agents don't love us My boys is selling they soul, running they dick suckers Like Kilo and Little Man, the game done went deeper Hope they know that it's over with, if they ever hit the streets Some shit you keep to yourself, and take it to the grave You bit your tongue put to your throat, for information that you gave I can't save no snitch, and give em no kinda hassle Let them words that you told, nigga be your last You might not live to tell, oh well These niggaz scared of jail, like hell Telling everything they know, like hoes You think it's all gravy, well bitch you gotta go You might not live to tell, oh well These niggaz scared of jail, like hell Telling everything they know, like hoes You think it's all gravy, well bitch you gotta go Clay-Doe: I knew this candy and a hook up, ain't good with sorese Had his peeky at the street, off bout a hundred a week At least boss balling, motherfucker was paid Use to take me to his crib, man bitch was laid Then here come the raid, next to interrogation On fo' hundred a gram, don't even care bout probation Now nigga I ain't crazy, I ain't no god damn fool If you told me that shit, I woulda shot you too I immediately knew, what I had to do Took him up to his crib, had a bag by his pool Told that nigga I had a surprise, and then I showed him Looked that nigga in his eyes, and then I told him Mike D: I know this nigga from the hood, use to juggle them goods A stand up cat, did his dirt in the woods Took him from a fifty packer, to a kilo stacker Block bleeder fa sho, full time Columbian jacker Took hood money to good money, put me in the studio Wish I woulda knew then, how this dirty game go Nigga you think don't fold, go out like hoes Pressure bust the pipe, this nigga sold his soul Tied the whole click in, during interrogation Turned a three brick hit, to a 21 vacation Knowing you hit the streets, your ghetto pass is void Put fifty in that