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B-Legit - N***** Get They Wig Split Lyrics

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***** I got beam like scotty

Leave you spotty

When I point this aim at your brain

And leave them hollow thangs in your body

Lodi-dodi I drinks bacardi

Gets dick hard drunk

When Im off that skunk punk

And you dont wanna dance tingo tango

I let my left right mingle mangle

To your jaw southpaw

It oughta be a law against these thangs I throw

About to lay some shit down with celly cel and bo

From the garden blocc

Hillside got they glock

Mack 10s

Mobb shitll neva end

Im tryin to have it all

So I ball till Im gold

Mobbin through a sixty usin cruise control

C-bo:

Im *****in wit that click nigga

That big nigga on the block

With glocks, rag tops

Cut thangs on them gold knocks

Better watch your back cuz we strapped with teks

Push up in a blue lex

And dump caps to your neck

Mobb shit

Bustaz all die

Leather trench

Brim and two nines

Costume of a killa

At your bed side holdin on two millas

Uggh we bust them teks close range

Livin estranged

Called insane

cuz when its on its on site no matter night or day

And you cant ***** wit these

Get smothered with a half a key

*****

Celly cel:

Give me the ball and ima fill the lane like fenney

Hardaway cuz Im out to get every penny

Any nigga disrespectin when Im checkin for my scrilla

I knowm stilla wig splittin killa aint no realla

Nigga realla than me

Mobbin through your hood and takin heads

Slumpin hangin out the windows dumpin

And shakin feds

So mind your own

Cross the line and see how quick they gone

Head blown decapitated caught slippin in my zone

*****in with this mobb shit

Niggaz get they wig split

C-bo:

Uggh its the murder man posted at the front door

And when they comes I dumps with both four-fours

Letin em have it cuz Im static

Dumpin the grass

Killed his ass

And then kneel down and get my last laugh

Punk ***** shouldnt have tripped

Now he lay dead in the ditch

Ass ripped

Suckin on his own dick

Money talk

Bullshit walk

Fool this aint no sunshine

Three killas

One garden blocc, two hillside

B-legit:

This shits *****ed and I am tag teamin with the murder man

And thatll hurt a man

Niggaz doin dirt and

All you got to do is hop your ass in my cut

Well be back tomorrow mornin

Cell, you comin or what?

I got this gut feelin

About to make the killin for a livin

The contract said the nigga wore a wire tap

And they want him dead

A hundred gs for his head

And leave a bloody glove down where that body bled

Celly cel:

Red rum is what Im hummin as I hit the fence

Homicide looked for prints but found no evidence

Stuffed his head in the duffel bag and zipped it up

Them ballas want to see his face before they break us off a cut

There it is cashed him like some chips at reno

Slid us a briefcase full of crispy ass c-notes

Made the hit

Got the scrilla

Gone without a trace

B behind the wheel

And bo loc cuffed to the briefcase

Yo nigga cell got the chopper case they on my trail

If its a tail then ima leave a 50 empty shells

Pistol smokin

These niggaz know we aint no jokin

Split up the tokens

And Im back in the hood loccin

*****in with this mobb shit

Niggaz get they wig split

B-legit:

Yeah, like a real hillside strangler, yola slanger, tryin to get a buck but if Im *****ed in the gas chamber.

The autopsy red, them niggaz had some heat fo yo ass.

And never leave your block without your glock, clip and mask.

Haters hatin but its all game related and thats what we do *****

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