Secondz A Way Lyrics
(First Degree):Shit done changed, the strip got biggerTo make my ends I got the wheel and the triggerI get my swerve on with the 80 P liquorThe liquor bring out the nigga in this niggaGot me huntin' with my musket, barred down with substanceBringin' my ruckus to the rival fuckas in rival clustersI'm still givin' birth to perfect joints, I keep it steadyStill mixin' up with skeet sours, I like them heavyHeavy'll put a little bass in your voiceYamps choice, no Rolls Royce but I keep it moistI keep it saucy, ya bossy bitch talkin' that costly shitBossy bitch think she too flossy to tripI'm First muthafuckin' Degree, not your average, I'll have your boulevard hoppin'Poppin' off when a baller pack a package of suckin'Fuck you fuckin' up duck, stuck like Chuck, now, now getcha dome in the trunkAs we donut, I dump, I seen too many moons, took the minds of too many bufoonsFools with no clues that love to watch my aura glisten, they still don't listenI...I got pot that's hot to trot, can't stop, won't stopI got Lynch Hung in my backseat sniffin' for copsI receipts of tweed purchase, medical purpose, write off at text timeSo ya'll go home, light the smoke, it's relax timeChorus:Now I apologize for smoke on my mindI been workin' hard and I got to unwindAbout the J.O.A. stayin' in my brainBut I'm seconds away from goin' insaneNow I need to lift away(Lynch):Now you niggas know I come sick like a lunaticMan, they must be high cuz they really don't know who they fuckin' withI used to have them all bombed outDrink Alize wine, then rhyme and smoke tweeds till we dropped outI got the chop out, no doubt, cuz if it ain't about rappin', gunplay's gon' happenCuz I'm tappin' at yo' window, off that Indo, more sacs than SantanaBetter check your antenna on your radio or your stereo or your videoCuz I'm not that pretty, but in the bedroom I'm criticalYou got your chance, now useHit you with the Loaded album, coutesty of Siccmade MusicEvidently you got something against meDon't you tempt me, minty smells of the 20 sac of Indo, Killafornia's bestPlayer haters die a slow death, slow deathCHORUS(Ice-T):I don't wear no Chuck Taylors and don't sag my pantsBut I still lift the switch and make this 64 danceMore niggas with me now than I had in the hoodAnd they down for whatever and that's all to the goodWish you would test my technique and heart, nigga what?Nigga, fuck that, bitch nigga what? Baby, duck!What you wanna do now, ya bleedin' from the floorNigga wanted beef, now he wants beef no moreThat's how I'm coming 9-6, bitch, rich and madHoes in bikinis, rag Lambroginis, overseer runnin' mad streetsCreepers with beepers and stash spots for glocksAnd under car Escobar style, buck wild, you been there, you know the terrainNiggas go insane, tryin' to get the greenI'm just surviving on the streets with my peepsAnd I'm livin' for the day I catch a punk on the creep, yeahCHORUS
Brotha Lynch Hung Secondz A Way
