1 Minute To Pray
Prodigy, A$ton Matthews
Hit the set from out the door, aw yeah
They hit the corner, hit the floor, aw yeah
Then hit the corner, hit the morgue, aw yeah
'Cause none them shots gon' hit the board, aw yeah
Yeah, 'cause it get brazy in the turf doe
Chunky ass forty turn them track feet to turf toe
Lip, get a fistful, brains, get a clip full
You know how this shit go
You know how this shit go
Looney Gangstas catch you slippin'
You know how this shit go
Double burger with the cheese
You know how this shit go
'Cause I'm a foolie wit it
Fully wit it, snubby got the scottie pippin
Jump it like I'm shuttlesworth, swish
With a cup full of that buttersworth, yeah
This hell on Earth is what we made our worth
The land of the free, the home of the brave
But half the homies gone in a cage and most in a grave
Now pussy, we ain't never took that shit lightly
But you can bet we flip your bitch nightly
Hold the handle to that fifth tightly
That paranoia, that paranoia
Granny said that there never be a heaven for ya
Referring to me, my vision 'bout as blurred as can be
Lord forget it I'm a sinner have your mercy on me
We herdin' the sheep while the devil whisper words in my sleep
Now your hands to your feet so watch the words that you speak
Bullet holes through your fleece look like the mark of the beast
Dropping bodies next to all them tire marks in the street
Like it's regular, it is around this way
They pull up, hop out, and make funerals out ya hood day
Pop, pop, pop, pop
Yeah, yeah
Yeah
I come for blood
Who wanna be the first dummy get that ass fired up?
Weird nigga got his life liq'd, yeah
He was on the corner with them demons, you know that's what that life get
Thought he was stone cold block made of iron
This nigga just a soft, warm, piece of shit, lyin'
I'm gonna take him out back and get started
A kidney four grand, a spleen is twelve hundred
Nigga got his slum dog chain, the shit is fake
Watch busta, fake thug busta, don't trust'em
6AM we still lookin' for you
While bright outside, we still lookin' for you
Escape New York, it's not for you
Try something more laid-back that's more safe
Escape LA, it's not for you
Try somewhere more remote, like far away, nigga
I am the danger you worry 'bout
I'm the type your father told you not to hang around
I'm the type your mama told you, "Be cautious"
Now you hiding in the crib scared and you nauseous
I find out where you live, that shit gettin' torched
I don't give a fuck who in it, that's your fault
Yeah, your bitch know your pussy now, aw man
She gon' give that pussy out, aw damn
Written by: Albert J. Johnson, Matthew LopezLyrics © BMG RIGHTS MANAGEMENTLyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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