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Guru – Collectin Props

Guru
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исполнитель Guru

длительность 03:24

размер 7.79 MB

битрейт 320 kbps

загружено MC.Searcher

Collectin Props
03:24
Police shake me down, which gangsta movie you like? This is real trife Real life -- wanna get ya shot in the game, and earn some real stripes Just like Feds magazine you couldn't imagine the battered scene You get shot up by little niggas wearin gabberdeans(?) I'm tired of lookin like Malcolm, in the window though Unpack the strap, Baldhead Slick smokin indo yo I'm not gonna speak on the personal, street business As long as Moe and King keep witness, it's Sunzu Part 2 Bring your guards too, never knew the depth of my crew Although I'm God-body, Baldhead Slick used to be a nobody Niggas didn't know that my crew's thick Aiyyo we killa hungry, I turn food back guerilla monkey Once I do that, nobody ain't healin and comfy I make niggas come out the rugbies Talk shit, I'll kill ya company Your for that jake, take my head I'll fake my death They wanna kill me cuz they hate my strength That's why they vote when I raise the M And let go, hollow fights from Expo Hear my tec blow, my tec blow electro Thou which is set pose, these streets is Death Row One through ya neckbone, jerk back ya headphone Nigga pop to that, you talk heat, hope you got the gat Who can amount to this? Sit back and pour a ounce of Cris' Bump a ounce to this, watch the bouncer get Testamentic, wild out, we gon' press ya district Sign out, or pull ya nines out and test ya biscuits Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted (son) Ain't no talkin once ya head is twisted Fuck rappin bout hamburgers I'ma rap about murders, flippin work, and thirty burners The only thing cookin on the stove, is crack in the pot We flip pies like Jack In The Box My .44 be blastin the cops, I mastered the block My cousin's a NARC, said sleep in the day, come out when it's dark Niggas'll test ya heart - Black Rhinos rip a vest apart Anybody doubt, fuck it we knockin 'em out Trinidad style with a body-shot, loud like when a Rotti' bark Cold John Gotti heart Can't be broke, ain't no joke, yes I smoke, wooden 'dro Five oh-oh, summer '99, I seen the snow Fuck the DEA and CEO - it's sour dough nigga, Mr. Moe nigga... [Guru] Collectin props, collectin props I throw punk niggas through cement walls, and break sheetrock Compound sound before the beat drop -- beat break I shake shit like Japanese earthquakes Thunderstorm, sweaty palms, grab firearms Blisters on my soles, runnin on hot coals from po-po Ya faced-off, get scraped off my windshield, I been healed Rapped up in my turban, green colored Suburban Bleach fuck a detergent... I whip ass and kick ass and clear paths with blowtorches Burn down fortresses, and crack foreheads like porcelain I got a habit for the beef Put ya soul on a hole of the earth where it's mad deep Don't let that coal burn ya back My name is Pete Power, burn ya gat The devil made me mad, tell him to send me a kite And I'ma send one back with autographs from murder fans...
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