Fiend - Slangin' Lyrics
[master p]Yo, whats up nigga, this the colonel, mp.But uh, fiend nigga, its your mutha*****in time to shine.You gon mix this shit up with bun b and pimp c.U.g.k. and fiend? this straight for all the niggas in the hoodNiggas on the corner, every nigga in the penitentitary.Nigga, this busta mutha*****in free. this for all the realNiggas and *****es out there, ya heard me? no limit style.Told yall mutha*****as aint no limit.[bun b]You mutha*****a, I dont feel where you comin fromI dont like your zone, *****, your microphone *****Your tone switch sound like you wanna dig your own ditchIts my pleasure to bring the shovelYou been lookin for troubleSo me and c and fiend gon bust your bubble on the doubleHut one, hut two, march nigga, fire off that torch niggaStraighten it out like starch niggaWhen Im parched nigga, take a sip of some keroseneMixed with promythosene, turn your block to a terror sceneShit you aint never seenTwenty millimeter tank rounds eatin up everythingNowhere to run, hide, or back downI put my mack down, picked up my ass kickerCause it blast thicker, hose and get off in that ass quickerThe last nigga figured, he had a chanceTo make it to that chopper, shit in his pantsMake the murder man danceWe shine like clusters, to leave you in the dustCause we tryin, to get rid a all you hatersAnd you mutha*****in bustas[chorus:(1) fiend]Boy, we down south banginRollin with these hustlersTryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas[chorus:(2) fiend] x 3Down south slanginRollin with these hustlersTryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas[pimp c]I got the cocaine lady, white lady, by the keyI get them whole for ten, double up for seventeenTwo outta one, step on it to winThey essays is my partna, mafia stamp on the endTwo block solid, each one worth oneI rock it up my seven and I chop it up with bunA pocket fulla stones, hollin bout a wrongSmokin, ridin dirty, got a chip up in my cellphoneKeep this shit pumpedGet to pop the trunkFeelin light headed off some california skunkAnd ***** I come from texas and love that shit to leanIm down with dj screw and ***** its u.g.k. and fiendAnd we ridin with some killas, niggas bout they dramaPimp like a wheelers, and *****es like pirahnasIm sweet james jones, a pimp and a hustlerTryin to get rid a all you hatasAnd you mutha*****in ***** ass bustas[chorus:(2)] x 4[fiend]Whats the sense of it all?Pimpin, powder, and ***** tryin to make penniesPayin off, so friendly to flip with my people give meIf any doubt, the south, in every show today, blown awayFrom the wrong way, Im killin these niggas the jones wayLet the psalm say, he died as a hataSooner than later, shoulda pop em since the incubatorMy life is droppin heron, at the sharonLookin, death dead onKnowin I was dead wrongFrom the sad songs, have you been to my city?If you aint got shitty, everything is far from prettyBut Im one bad *****er thats always claimin tankNiggas know n.o., dank, and elevateMy rank, what you call it?Bustin out the expeditionFiend pimpin, blowin up corns coke and cat emissionsMy livin, resist the no limit and stashin a dusterServin the cluckers, poppin it undercoverWe gettin rid a bustas[chorus:(2)] x 6
