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Brotha Lynch Hung - On My Briefcase

на свой мобильный!
Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-101-19559 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

(lynch):

Now on my briefcase was some crumbled weed

A pack of saravegas and a 24 ounce o.e.

Might as well skeez these couple of hoes

In my 69 malibu sittin on trues and vogues

For days you might have seen me in my cinnamon cut chrome shoes

With some you cant see me tint on the windows indo syndrome

Smokin it up, not givin a muthafuckin fizuck

Sold the cut, my ex-hoe said that niggas sqautin what?

Got at the homie carl, and got some of that bomb

Had me so fuckin high I got off like vietnam

Dead bodies and bitches clits simmerin in the crock pot

And the shit dont stop until my muthafuckin chronic or high drop

Its just that insane type of thang, let the mac rain guts in the drain

Siccmade niggas they make the world go round

And if you fuck with siccmade music you can get your ass gunned down



(phonk beta):

I had a homie who stayed up in alaska, used to transfer flights over nebraska

And flew me back about a ounce of that alaska indica weed

And out of the whole zip possessed one seed

Had it wrapped real tight all up in cellophane

Cant have the k-9 dogs smell it, man

If only you saw what I was seein, the buds was almost pure white, not green

Had to be one of those one hitter quitter dome splitters

Thats the type a tweed that makes you wanna fuck your baby-sitter

I roll a fattie, when I roll this fattie

Niggasll be all noid wonderin why they lookin at me

Bitches have the nerve to say my shit aint bomb

But itll have your lungs burnin, like your puffin on napalm



(zagg):

I wipe that sweat up off my forehead, Im off the cusche

Lay back and take a comfortable hit, with a q-tip, its splittin my lips

And my dome stays split off toothpicks

I hit a lick with a quickness, dumpin dead bodies in ditches

Appreciate the fact, come correct, cuz I could be vicious

Suspicion, comin up on recognition Im creepin up from behind

With a 12 gauge, non-fiction, Im all prepared to go for mine

So step in line, a couple of hits, dome split, I be lit on a for real base

With a machete Ill slice your neck just like them jason cases

Murder traces, but I aint pinned cuz theres no evidence

Slight scent of that purple cusche plant, and I can almost sense the essence

Whats the lesson? get tested, dont come if you cant come correct

Its that west coast shit for life I dont know what you expected

Im reckless, nevertheless Im a pimp in a bulletproof vest

Puttin it down, pound for pound, you need to take a step down

50 caliber rounds, Im runnin through your whole town

Buckin em down like doom set on deathmatch with the bfg-9000 cartoon

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