Sauce Money - We Gonna Rock Lyrics
Never send a boy to do a mans jobYou know?I think we got away from what the ***** this is all aboutWe forgot - how to spitMutha*****as is makin all these crazy-ass *****in recordsStop puttin your dirty laundry out in the street, mutha*****aFollow me now***** with me[ verse 1 ]Sammy sosa slugger, hip-hop nigga, touch em allSome cute, but suck em all, I say ***** em allEat a dick too, soloist choose another routeG.h. form now, go and break my brother outHenny out the bottle, nigga, eyes low in the truckNothin but that good smoke, hydro in the dutchAint no probably, sauce money, fool, got to beChicken eggs grits, california, call it oscar e.Everything I spit hot, baby boy, youre kiddin me?Hit flex with it, stretch with it, then mr. ceeMarley marl sunday night, cant forget kid capriHit the turnpike where all my niggas down in philly beJust passin through, son, still many guns to *****30 miles from the bridge where anyone can copChillin at my ***** crib, sip plenty rum and scotchPut it in the air for them niggas biggie, pun and pac[ chorus ]Haters frontin in the clubReal gees show us loveBust slugs for my nigga(we gonna rock)Anywhere we do showsCome through, two hoesKillers with new flows, playa(we gonna rock)Even when eyes low from hydroCant another brother *****-block my flow(we gonna rock)Cant stop our onesCant block our gunsGet your triggersAnd squeeze for these faculty niggas[ verse 2 ]Haters hate me cause Im a big nigga with mass appealThey can suck a dick with ghonorrhea and thats for realAint no secrets, mutha*****as know I might clap the steelBe ready any given time, Im like grab the wheelLet the window down slow, kid just bought the farmTwo chicks in a yugo, damn, its a false alarmNot on this joint, sauce usually calm with the grammarBut right now Im like baking soda, armed with a hammerSummertime comin, now they wonder what I drive nextRepresent for big niggas, 3-4-5-xWide body jeeps, little dimes puff the herb slowKnow the drill, bubblegum, rubbers in the 3rd rowSuv tinted out, frontin on the hands-freeReal gees happy for me, haters like it cant beFighter and a lover, worst enemy or your brotherJust dont forget to call me dad too cause Im a mother*****er[ chorus ][ verse 3 ]I know *****es who love sauce for the dicko, straight gorillaFatally, more than likely take at least eight to kill a-Ddicted to my flow, doggy style aint the way I make my scrilla[name], [name], [name], [name], those my niggasHit the club half-*****ed, niggas shoulda knew me betterJim star dillinger, thats under my gucci sweaterThrough the crowd thugged out, took my stance and I spitScreamed on this one chick like, *****, dance to my shitPart the club with elbows, bump a nigga, love thatNigga read my eyes and it said step the ***** backThis gorilla hill shit, we dont give two *****sOn gorilla hill, kid, you tryin to do too muchMustve had a sixth sense, how he knew I clutch chrome?Probably this a big *****, front and left his nuts home***** that weak gotti shit, nigga, let your shotie spitSauce mutha*****in, get your punk-ass body whipped[ chorus ] (3x)Welcome to gorilla hill