K-POP Lyrics Song

Mobb DeepGet Me

(Get me) Uh-huh
(They pretty) Uh-huh
(Wit me) Uh-huh
(It's crispy) Yeah!
Whoo! Uh-huh, uh-huh, yo
Y'all just blowin smoke, fan in the fire
Your wife is gettin curious homie
you better hide her
Keep it gully baby boy, share that
Easy when you see me,
I don't like to get stared at
Niggaz only mad cause they asses can't rap
Soup the cowards up,
if you want, get your man clapped
Yeah - sealed signed delivered, anthrax
You got a thousand niggaz
I'll do numbers with half that
Catch me whylin out
with a mami in Club Black
Enough on the wheels make me
feel like the tunnel packed
Yeah, if it's some'n I'm feelin you runnin that
And we don't let a thing slide baby,
what's up with that?
Talk on the jack like Feds,
got the phone tapped
Havoc make tracks,
didn't know, just hold that
Career ain't goin so well, I got that
Slide you some hot shit, nigga it's a wrap!
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Yeah, y'all niggaz pussy son
Y'all not known for bustin them guns
So for the .9 I got beef for days
Y'all want it wit us don't get carried away
Call the coroner
Yo, a closed mouth don't get fed,
that's why I talk to him
I'm hungry, niggaz is eatin fo' pounds,
I walk through 'em
Either you shook or your .9 spray
You got a row of sixteen and a clip,
one in the head around my way
Fuck with my money you be shot the fuck up
The name Littles got the
streets locked the fuck up
Dumped off the bridge,
body mopped the fuck up
when them Mobb Deep boys
creep or pop the fuck up
There ain't a nigga that can cramp my style
Fifteen get money, livin frozen out
You cowards softer than a bitch,
get a baby wipe
'Fore I show you what the
.9 or three-eighty like
Want beef muh'fucker come and get me
All this rap in the booth,
or whassup in the street
Not a nickel get sold in the park 'less I eat
Think different the mac'll spin
you like the G-Unit piece
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Aiyyo, hey hey
Look I walk around with my pound in a glass
Puffin my haze, missed with that
dro and sprinkled some hash
How I roll? Why would you ask?
Know I'm swingin my piece,
pocket full of G's, gun in the stash
I know y'all roll with the boys with the badge
That's why when you kick that gangsta rap,
homie I just laugh
From the ave, where snitches get blast
They say - no Noyd,
you won't blow makin songs like that
I say - homie you sell your soul to glitter,
it don't last
I don't get no bigger,
I'ma keep it realer to death
Fuck is a check if you ain't bustin a tec
Nigga we countin the scrilla
with the gun on the deck
Countin the gang that snaps,
think how many straps and vests
We flash the pound around
and knuckle down the rest
We hate the E-mails and the phones,
the spots get blown
It's +Deep+,
we can't even speak in certain rooms
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Yeah, y'all niggaz pussy son
Y'all not known for bustin them guns
So for the .9 I got beef for days
Y'all want it wit us don't get carried away
Call the coroner
'bout them Mobb Deep boys, they no joke
They blood-thirsty for that rap music yo
It's not a song,
it's a goddamn bomb fittin to blow
They not a group,


(Get me) Uh-huh
(They pretty) Uh-huh
(Wit me) Uh-huh
(It's crispy) Yeah!
Whoo! Uh-huh, uh-huh, yo
Y'all just blowin smoke, fan in the fire
Your wife is gettin curious homie
you better hide her
Keep it gully baby boy, share that
Easy when you see me,
I don't like to get stared at
Niggaz only mad cause they asses can't rap
Soup the cowards up,
if you want, get your man clapped
Yeah - sealed signed delivered, anthrax
You got a thousand niggaz
I'll do numbers with half that
Catch me whylin out
with a mami in Club Black
Enough on the wheels make me
feel like the tunnel packed
Yeah, if it's some'n I'm feelin you runnin that
And we don't let a thing slide baby,
what's up with that?
Talk on the jack like Feds,
got the phone tapped
Havoc make tracks,
didn't know, just hold that
Career ain't goin so well, I got that
Slide you some hot shit, nigga it's a wrap!
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Yeah, y'all niggaz pussy son
Y'all not known for bustin them guns
So for the .9 I got beef for days
Y'all want it wit us don't get carried away
Call the coroner
Yo, a closed mouth don't get fed,
that's why I talk to him
I'm hungry, niggaz is eatin fo' pounds,
I walk through 'em
Either you shook or your .9 spray
You got a row of sixteen and a clip,
one in the head around my way
Fuck with my money you be shot the fuck up
The name Littles got the
streets locked the fuck up
Dumped off the bridge,
body mopped the fuck up
when them Mobb Deep boys
creep or pop the fuck up
There ain't a nigga that can cramp my style
Fifteen get money, livin frozen out
You cowards softer than a bitch,
get a baby wipe
'Fore I show you what the
.9 or three-eighty like
Want beef muh'fucker come and get me
All this rap in the booth,
or whassup in the street
Not a nickel get sold in the park 'less I eat
Think different the mac'll spin
you like the G-Unit piece
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Aiyyo, hey hey
Look I walk around with my pound in a glass
Puffin my haze, missed with that
dro and sprinkled some hash
How I roll? Why would you ask?
Know I'm swingin my piece,
pocket full of G's, gun in the stash
I know y'all roll with the boys with the badge
That's why when you kick that gangsta rap,
homie I just laugh
From the ave, where snitches get blast
They say - no Noyd,
you won't blow makin songs like that
I say - homie you sell your soul to glitter,
it don't last
I don't get no bigger,
I'ma keep it realer to death
Fuck is a check if you ain't bustin a tec
Nigga we countin the scrilla
with the gun on the deck
Countin the gang that snaps,
think how many straps and vests
We flash the pound around
and knuckle down the rest
We hate the E-mails and the phones,
the spots get blown
It's +Deep+,
we can't even speak in certain rooms
See the cats in the whips wanna - get me
But I got the pounds
and them .9's - they pretty
See me on the streets,
them gorillas they - wit me
Bills in the pockets,
know them things is - crispy
Yeah, y'all niggaz pussy son
Y'all not known for bustin them guns
So for the .9 I got beef for days
Y'all want it wit us don't get carried away
Call the coroner
'bout them Mobb Deep boys, they no joke
They blood-thirsty for that rap music yo
It's not a song,
it's a goddamn bomb fittin to blow
They not a group,


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