Couch Potato - Dream Killer Part 2 - Tekst piosenki, lyrics - teksciki.pl

Dream Killer Part 2

Couch Potato

Young Till I Die

11

Rap

Tekst piosenki
[Intro: Schoolboy Q] Yawk! Yawk! Yawk! Yawk! [Hook] Ain't your momma tell you not to mess around with guns Ain't your momma tell you not to mess around with thugs Just Like you, i was curious and dumb Well then, tell me Is this what you looking for son? [Verse 1] If you don’t know what happened I’d like to take you back then Recap then, to back when I started buzzing from rapping Even though niggas was laughing at my pain and my passion CDs I kept on handing, became the main attraction Black Jag had pulled up with black men in black suit “You can join my label, couple pesos and I got you With merchandise, radios, websites, stage shows Here’s my card little homie, when you ready say so” Called him, met up, gave him half of what he asked Homies told me he a snake and I should just pass Deals off, “Man said I want my money back!” “No refunds! Didn’t you read the contract?” *Dial tone* That got me mad, then I spazzed like “Don’t let me catch you up on the ave” “i’ve got power you can’t match. Tell me what you’re going to do about that” Banged on him, call my guys like “Bring the whip, we about to ride” Hopped in that two-door with two fours on each side *Clock ticks* After an hour passed, saw the coward, hit the gas My niggas blast, *gunshot* “Missed the fag” Hopped out to chase his ass He sees us coming, jumps in an alley or something Hops out with a shotti, said some words and started dumping Now I’m running back, turned bergen Ave Jumped behind a whip shots hit the glass *glass shatters* I fire back, better think fast or I’ll end up in a body bag *gunshots* How that sound, young till I die because I might die now *gunshots* I’ll be damned if I don’t make it out Hold up, I think he reloading, then I open fire *gunshots* Next I’m hearing sirens *sirens* Two-door pulls up with screeching tires “Let’s go! It’s 5-0!” Before we hit the gas I made sure to put a bullet in the tires of his Jag OK, forget the cash I trashed his whip, I’m good with that In the rearview, I see he’s mad When the po-po pulled up on his ass Shotgun in hand, I don’t know if he complying I heard shots fired, Mossberg shells flying *gunshots* By that time, we blocks away Ran up in that crib and prayed On the real though, tomorrow night we celebrating (celebrating) [Hook]
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