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lirik lagu bust your gun – the lox

sh-t is crazy.. can’t believe it
ha, haha, oooh, sh-t

[styles]
we don’t give a f-ck about you frostin’ ya hand (f-ck)
cause knockin’ off these bricks then offin’ yo’ man
that’s the kinda boss that i am (why not)
and i’mma play shotgun, smoke the porsche make a van
hollarin’ at you so deep and so sick wit’ the guns
when i walk by the wake i want the cough in the stand (stand up)
so hold up for one minute (what)
you won’t catch me in the tub, in the whip
or the club without a gun in it
and don’t come through the strip
lookin’ hard in the car, with ya motherf-ckin’ daughter and ya son in it
lately i been missin’ my fred, the roof pop (too hot)
but feel me cause he hittin’ the stairs, the truth pop
n-ggas think this album cuts (haha!)
i’m like f-ck it, i’m the n-gga comin’ through the door wit two revolvers up (two ’em)
and i’m takin’ all drama
and i spent twenty thou’ motherf-cker so i just got more problems

[hook]
you got’sta bust yo’ gun
cause if you don’t then n-ggas know you won’t they gon’ touch yo’ ones
got’sta bend yo’ knife
cause if you don’t then n-ggas know you won’t they gon’ change yo’ life

[sheek]
aiyyo, who gotta my name huh?
who think it’s a f-ckin’ game (c’mon)
like yo’ money can’t be found under the cane (y’know)
like yo’ body can’t be found under the trains
like this punk won’t shatter apart your brain (bla!)
i’mma thug wit’ no scars, and no braids
but i could aim, and shoot through the heart or your shades
i’m too row, plus too quick on the gat (uh-huh)
hate water, but i leave you wit’ a wills play-back
i don’t give a f-ck if all y’all go to the cops
and i don’t give a f-ck if none of y’all gimmie my props
i got sh-t in my name and my credit is worse
what’s to stop me from shooting you first? f-ck you! (haha)
i’m like tattoos, you forget that i’m there (uh-huh)
to the gun fire perm your hair
miss you, and go strait through your moms rockin’ chair
through her back and it ain’t stopping there!

[hook] – 2x

[sheek]
bounce my n-ggas.. c’mon
sheek and s.p., rock, rock on (c’mon)
bust shots ’til your glock can’t pop no more (hahaha)
let it down ’til your top can’t drop no more (uh-huh)
hit you up ’til your spirit’s where the eagles fly (c’mon)
talk to me, if you really come back when you’ll die (c’mon)
make me believe, no shirt but still got some sh-t up my sleeve
no asthma, makin’ it hard to breathe
let’s go, aiyyo styles take this motherf-ckin’ mic from me, c’mon

[styles]
aight.. aiyyo, p’ll tell it like story, just like a narrator
ya don’t mean it, we snappin’ it like the aligators
open ya eyes so you can see what the drama mean
i hit ya man in the cheek wit’ a barber blade
and i’m in the first float at the (?) parade
forty on the weights wit’ a fifty on the garcarade
always got the route, never had the heart to beg
you ain’t seein’ sh-t ’til a slug rip a part’a head

[hook] – 4x

- the lox

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