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gangsta - z-ro & trae tha truth lyrics

(-talking-)
sk, sha, bout time you let these n-ggas know
what you really bout, know i’m saying
it’s slow loud and bangin’, all these mark -ss n-ggas
we bringing the real back, street sh-t
gangsta sh-t, fin to put you hoes in your place

[lil boss hogg]
a pair of fresh pressed khakis, and chucks will do me fine
i provide promethazyne, so please pour out that whine
but don’t waste it on my new shoestrings, b-tch i bang
my bold laces, match the same color of my flag that hangs (d-mn)
i stay g to the t, e to the b
h to the c, the streets raised me properly
block monopoly, always some sh-t in the block
cali building got naughty, knocked off big glock
had to call up reese’s, got guns to dock
he done called his connect, and picked up a new stock
these broke -ss n-ggas, ain’t nothing but peasants
wrap a n-gga -ss up, like christmas presents
these n-ggas ain’t g’s, these n-ggas is wussies
get your lips off my d-ck, and go eat you some p-ssy
i ain’t worried bout a b-tch, she can kiss my -ss
the only time i come to f-ck, is when i can’t get cash
keep your mind off mines, and build up your stash
all blunts rolled up, endo in hash
out of a b-tch -ss n-gga, i’ll make a believer
have these n-ggas catching bullets, like wide receivers
b-tch i hit a l!ck, bought a lac hit a switch
you can ask these n-ggas trick, s.l.a.b. the sh-t
just because playas get chose, you wan’ grab your b-tch
i bet nine out of ten, we can have the b-tch

[trae]
i never been a thug, till i graduated to one
and never shot a slug, till i got my hands on a gun
these n-ggas be fraud and fake, and ain’t never been worthy
got me feeling like jordan, dumping 23 in they jersey
i’m sick and i’m sl!ck, i run with gang bangers and jackers
frame plackers and bad actors, being watched by them crackers
i’m running through plex with plex, like i’m randy moss
you run in my house, your head i’m fin to be knocking it off
and f-cking your spouse, with nuts running all in her mouth
that b-tch’ll get tossed, like a drop top slab in the south
god d-mn cause here i go again, cooking and flipping dope again
ten bricks in the do’ again, ready to hit the road again
trae done just wrecked the flow again, lyrically i’m a -ss
i’m sick of these roaching n-ggas, trying to get inside of my stash
b-tch it ain’t gon happen, f-ck rapping cause i’ma get you
and have your mama in church, word for word reading scriptures

[yung redd]
don’t let me grab the chrome, and break up a happy home
long as i’m getting my hustle on, ain’t nothing wrong
now all my music, ain’t just good wordplay
listen real close, n-ggas feel ery’thing i say
play it smart, you can get your days dark
them k’s spark and break you apart, n-gga so don’t start
you don’t wanna end your life, on a bad note
get lost in gun smoke, n-ggas better take notes
from neopacknol, you ain’t getting nothing back
plus the new cadillac, 22’s under that
7-1-3, n-ggas better move out
walk a straight line, yung redd keep his tool out

(-talking-)
yeah, it’s not a game know i’m saying
the world is crooked, my n-ggas is straight

[j-doe]
my n-gga, it’s time to make this sh-t known
s dub, v is finally in the screw zone
it took a minute, but you know we had to find home
too many funny n-ggas, acting like they wasn’t wrong
jump fly with a vulture, get your brains blown
you donny brasco, me my n-gga i’m al kapone
we take private flights, you n-ggas never leave home
fifteen hundred, plus i gotta get some thoed dome
i f-ck’s, with the s.u.cizzy
moving these tapes, with the b.u.dizzy
vulture piece spin, until i o-dizzy
a thoed mouthpiece, make pimping so easy
bat a hoe up, like my n-gga named geezy
repping the dub, with s.l.a.beezie

[z-ro]
joseph rain, i’m here to put black eyes in the game
wouldn’t give a f-ck about rapping, i’m a gangsta you know my name
some people call me the crooked, some people call me the don
some people call me heartless, cause if it’s beef i’ll smoke your mom’s
and your papa and your uncle eddy, n-gga this war for real
i suggest you go get your people ready, cause i’ma slide by and f-ck a driveby
i’ma throw my sh-t in park, and straight up hopping out
sound like applause in the streets, all these uzi sh-lls dropping out
f-ck with mr. mcvey, and diiiie
repping it like southsive for live, fo’ liiife
i pistol grip, with motherf-ckers at all times
navy blue up in the regal, leaning to the left side
2-wheeling down south mcgregor, bending corners in the tre
no license or insurance, but i ain’t legal anyway
gon jump on the bun, cause my warrant got a color
one love to yukmouth, in uniting the ghettos we all gutter

- z ro trae tha truth lyrics

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