a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

tank - rmc mike lyrics

[intro: sweezee don]
sweezee

[verse 1: sweezee don]
n*ggas on bullsh*t, we keep that with us (we got it)
me, loski, and mike, boy, that’s three straps with us (straps)
i just rolled up a ’wood with a three*five in it (three*five)
b*tch, my cream soda dirty as an eastside n*gga (dirty)

[verse 2: rmc mike]
lil’ bro’nem in the field playin’ pass the shooter
he hit a n*gga six times, lil’ cousin came and added to it
n*ggas ’round here snitchin’ like a b*tch, a bunch of ratatouilles
high as h*ll, liquid in my cup look like transmission fluid

[verse 3: mademan lo]
could pay to get you gone, but i’d rather do it
headshot up close, mike, bro, i heard him, he pooted (i got him)
really travel with that dog, it get deeper than music (yeah, southside sh*t)
you the type to freeze up, homie beg you to shoot it (get low)

[verse 4: sweezee don]
boy, these n*ggas only tough when they at the computer (hams)
if i hit him with a bag, n*ggas barely could move it (n*ggas can’t)
i got some okay sh*t that i sell to the tourists (it’s alright)
and got some fire*ass blow that i’m sellin’ to shooters (that sh*t)
[verse 5: rmc mike]
loski got that baby glock on him, i got a big ruger
sweezee walked in with a k, he like to misuse it
got an eight of red from my fiend, her name miss suzie
break a brick down to twenty rocks and get this b*tch boomin’

[verse 6: mademan lo]
how your b*tch got a bag and you ain’t got one? (og)
meet me ’round texas family dollar, i’ll spot you one (free the money bag)
broski with the gadgets on the k look like a water gun (supersoaker)
i heard that food was good and went and bought me some (i did)

[verse 7: sweezee don, rmc mike & mademan lo]
my kids gotta eat, so i gotta make the dollars come (i gotta get it)
even if we friends, n*gga, i’ll sell your mama somethin’ (i don’t care)
how the f*ck is you a k!ller and you ain’t got a gun?
i’ll have a lil’ n*gga come smoke you for a knot of ones
bro, let me shoot him in his face, show him his sh*t stank
graduated, no more shoeboxes for the fish tanks
i been in the kitchen all day doin’ the wrist break
run through the whole f*ckin’ bag, then drop a mixtape
i don’t play the drums, i’ll let a stick bang (boom)
fendis got the eyes on the side like a fish face (like a fish)

[verse 8: mademan lo]
and i don’t need no kitchen, just some sockets for a blender (og)
and two or three boy heads that’s some big spenders (og)
be smooth with that wood, that b*tch leave splinters (rrah)
you lookin’ up to rats, you friends with master splinter (rat)
[verse 9: rmc mike]
n*ggas ain’t got no type of grind, they only last the winter
drunk a three of hi*tech and almost crashed the rental
bro been goin’ crazy with them numbers, he a mathematician
last week, my nephew stabbed his b*tch, but it was accidental

[verse 10: sweezee don]
lil’ cuz ain’t old enough to vote and he packin’ pistols (young kid)
ready to murk a grown n*gga off a half a skittle (racks)
surely it was days we ain’t even have a nickel (yeah)
now on a short week, a n*gga move a half a chicken

[verse 11: rmc mike]
lo had an eight, i had an eight, so we matched a nickel
i’m the type to fire on a fan if he act suspicious
you can’t buy no drank from me unless we match it, n*gga
last night, i got a sixty*nine with a plastic pistol

[verse 12: mademan lo]
boy, i’ll smack the bird out a rental, won’t shh to you
feel you suspects in my flunky, i don’t wanna meet (nah)
it be the laziest n*ggas sayin’ they wasn’t eatin’ (they gotta work)
sixteen*hours drives, p*ssy, you would go to sleep (stay woke)

[verse 13: sweezee don]
i been found out these n*ggas don’t like me (i been knew it)
but let me find out these n*ggas talkin’ spicy (let me hear that sh*t)
say what’s the tag on his head? ’cause i’m pricy (how much it cost?)
i put a check on his ass like some nikes (just do it)
[verse 14: rmc mike & sweezee don]
nephew got a f*ckin’ .308, he only nineteen
nasty n*gga, drop a four of wocky in my iced tea
i just gave an rp to somebody wifey (here you go, boo)
bape joggy on and my buffs white as icin’
put your lil’ b*tch out the trap, she actin’ triflin’
unc’ told me some sh*t i can’t share, this sh*t is priceless

- rmc mike lyrics

Random Song Lyrics :

Popular