lirik lagu glorious thugs – flatbush zombies
[verse 1: meechy darko]
armed and dangerous, wanna k!ll meech, better aim it up
most of these rap n-ggas hating us
feel like i got six people living inside my cranium
help me, i see dead people, i’m talking them benjamins
six senses just ain’t enough
i need a bad b-tch, about a billion bucks
telling me i been a monster, man, that boss, man
my sonograms full of solid granite, them gold fangs, that real sh-t
no hologram when you talk sl!ck, you get hit with extra gram
bu-buck shot and then they gon’ bounce
some ducked down, some n-ggas ran
came in this game talking sh-t, acid tab, hashish bricks
codeine-sip, weed in my lungs, easy flip, i got the right plug
all these drugs, i got to like one
all this beef, i got the right punch
what situation is the right one?
what you gon’ do, die or run?
[verse 2: zombie juice]
7 a.m., woke in the morning
with hen’ and caffeine and green and nicotine
waiting for this pack, got to fit the whole team
five-o on my back, gotta make it best, man
little stress here, bit of stress here
got a 9 milli weapon for protection to k!ll n-ggas off, no question
nah, n-ggas is announcing the brown skin
man, this no bullsh-t, they scared of us
and they took a right to not give a f-ck
someone loaded up ’til my trigger bust
and they been down for us, just how a n-gga bust
shout-out to my n-ggas on the corner with the raw
trying to make a little living ’bout what a n-gga can’t afford
who put them drugs in the hood, anyway?
who told these n-ggas we ain’t sh-t everyday?
they start the trend and we followed in
‘fore the copper chopper trying to hollow me
these bars ain’t ready, gotta call ’em in
my pack funky, that parliament
put pall mall grandfather cigs, paul wall, my grill is
tipping my verses, my b-tches get serviced
we vicious, we serpents, we ripping this earth sh-t
[verse 3: erick arc elliott]
uh, this is how i operate, no md, just emcee
been contemplating this architecture
been all semester, they ignored the message
leave shorty wet, my stain on balmain
all of my n-ggas are shooters, they aim
full of description, your fists where they missing
and mission: this is an original, man
my ism is torture, we live in the system
where n-ggas in prison for pushing a dime
shooting to k!ll, gunning ’em down
who can distinguish what is on ground?
smoking this dope and my arm in rick ow’
carry that sh-t like i’m holding an “o”
a n-gga talking reckless, same, we smoking dutches
on a certain substance, balling on a budget
give you a minimum when you exhibit a criminal mimic
and miracles, they get demerited
they made the liberty’s privilege
the live is the image of indigo
n-ggas is wild on this side
don’t be surprised when i silence the scene with six shooters
as soon as you fetch your money machine, motherf-cker
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