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mother fuckin’ thugs - too much trouble lyrics

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(verse 1: drunk d)
woke up early in the morning, breath funky
f*ck the closeup, i’ll grab the f*ckin’ brass monkey
slap my b*tch on the ass so she can feel it
and tell her to put some eggs in the godd*mn sk!llet
call w*lly and earl at the motherf*ckin crack house
all i wanna hear is good sh*t, i’m the boss
if w*lly, earl, tell me that they had bad luck
well they ass better try and get the f*ck up
cause i k!ll every one of them suckas
then recruit me some new motherf*ckas
all the sh*t about a motherf*cka trickin’
f*ck wit my money, there’ll be a lot of ass kickin’
how can a n*gga like a fiend that’s sick?
knowing that the b*tch suck a glass d*ck
n*gga better try to take care of his business
cause if he dies, there won’t be a f*ckin witness, n*gga
i’m a motherf*ckin thug and i’m slaying
so a n*gga better do sh*t, or get caught in a plan
all this slippin’ up, f*ckin up, losing the dope
his neck bout to meet the f*ckin rope
i got my back against the motherf*ckin wall
lookin at my boys standing six feet tall
the shortest motherf*cka in the pack
but i got the brain to make a twenty feet stack
if any one of them n*ggas even budge
imma put a slug to his mug, it ain’t nothing but the thug
in my motherf*ckin f*cked up system
when a hoe hits the floor, i ain’t gonna miss him
just sweep the n*gga up like trash
then prepare for the next n*gga’s ass

(verse 2: big mello)
i’m a motherf*ckin thug and i be amping on that fry
and i’ll be that type of motherf*cka till i die
but there’s no stopping the jackin while i’m in the progress
now i’m about to buss a b*tch dead in the chest
okay, the white folks be sweatin’ me
cause i’m very deadly, they scared of me
if they wanted water, you can’t even pour it on me
they still in fear when it time to build up my bankroll
the mello still on eighty fo
huh, i catch a b*tch by the neck and try to break it
give me the bank, you dirty b*tch, imma take it
huh, me and the motherf*ckin drunk be envy
hot shot, it’s the ghetto mc and we’ll
ready to blast, as we get away
any punk motherf*cka, that gets in the way
boy, none and bad news will bust that ass, b*tch
a low down tender brother with the pistol grip
now, mello is the n*gga doing damage to the dome
you rather run through h*ll with gasoline drawers on
huh than to f*ck wit the mello, now get out my mud
huh, i’ll forever be a thug

(verse 3: ghetto mc)
the way we k!ll motherf*ckas in the nickel, fool
we don’t drive*by, we ride*by, blasting from a bicycle
laws on my ass for the sh*t i did
i ??? my word for losing the youngest grandkids
but that sh*t won’t happen, i’m too street smart
the cold blood of a thug is pumping through my f*ckin heart
the other day, i robbed the liquor store
this sh*t got out of hand, so i had to cap a hoe
but that ain’t sh*t, ghetto, do what i gotta do
before i left, i had to grab me a brew
reach in the freezer to grab the 4*0
that’s when i spotted a punk peeking through the front door
he tried to run, i shot him in the leg
now like a b*tch on his hands and knees, he begged
“please don’t k!ll me! i’m a innocent bystander!”
“b*tch shut the f*ck up, with that propaganda!”
place a slug in his head, took a swig of my beer
collected my cash, a n*gga’s outta here
headed straight to brewster park, so i can pump some drugs
the average day in the life of a motherf*ckin thug

(verse 4: bar*none)
i got a pocket full of dope tryna make some cash
gonna start about now, so i can sell out fast
i watch my own back, cause i’m always strapped
if a dope fiend try to rob me (bar*none, bust a cap!)
i don’t need a cadillac to show that i’m banking hard
got money in my pocket (f*ck a credit card!)
some punks with them lacs think they so d*mn hype
i can chill and make thousands on a godd*mn bike
not tryna put them down cause their lacs are clean
f*ck four wheels, i roll on two and still make the green
yeah, i’m the kingpin in the world of drugs
and you wanna know why? cause i’m a motherf*ckin thug

(man talking down on too much trouble)
y’all hook ass n*ggas think y’all hard and sh*t. been around sn*tching purses and robbin motherf*ckas. y’all ain’t about sh*t, ain’t never going be sh*t, and ain’t gonna do sh*t. and why the f*ck they call y’all too much trouble anyway?
(gunshots, man groaning)

(drunk d)
yo, ghetto, p*ss on his dead ass

(pants unzip, urinating on the dead body)

- too much trouble lyrics

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