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Текст (слова) песни: Fiend - Slangin



[master p]

Yo, whats up nigga, this the colonel, mp.

But uh, fiend nigga, its your muthafuckin 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 hood

Niggas on the corner, every nigga in the penitentitary.

Nigga, this busta muthafuckin free. this for all the real

Niggas and bitches out there, ya heard me? no limit style.

Told yall muthafuckas aint no limit.

[bun b]

You muthafucka, I dont feel where you comin from

I dont like your zone, bitch, your microphone bitch

Your tone switch sound like you wanna dig your own ditch

Its my pleasure to bring the shovel

You been lookin for trouble

So me and c and fiend gon bust your bubble on the double

Hut one, hut two, march nigga, fire off that torch nigga

Straighten it out like starch nigga

When Im parched nigga, take a sip of some kerosene

Mixed with promythosene, turn your block to a terror scene

Shit you aint never seen

Twenty millimeter tank rounds eatin up everything

Nowhere to run, hide, or back down

I put my mack down, picked up my ass kicker

Cause it blast thicker, hose and get off in that ass quicker

The last nigga figured, he had a chance

To make it to that chopper, shit in his pants

Make the murder man dance

We shine like clusters, to leave you in the dust

Cause we tryin, to get rid a all you haters

And you muthafuckin bustas

[chorus:(1) fiend]

Boy, we down south bangin

Rollin with these hustlers

Tryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas

[chorus:(2) fiend] x 3

Down south slangin

Rollin with these hustlers

Tryin to get rid a you hatas and you bustas

[pimp c]

I got the cocaine lady, white lady, by the key

I get them whole for ten, double up for seventeen

Two outta one, step on it to win

They essays is my partna, mafia stamp on the end

Two block solid, each one worth one

I rock it up my seven and I chop it up with bun

A pocket fulla stones, hollin bout a wrong

Smokin, ridin dirty, got a chip up in my cellphone

Keep this shit pumped

Get to pop the trunk

Feelin light headed off some california skunk

And bitch I come from texas and love that shit to lean

Im down with dj screw and bitch its u.g.k. and fiend

And we ridin with some killas, niggas bout they drama

Pimp like a wheelers, and bitches like pirahnas

Im sweet james jones, a pimp and a hustler

Tryin to get rid a all you hatas

And you muthafuckin pussy ass bustas

[chorus:(2)] x 4

[fiend]

Whats the sense of it all?

Pimpin, powder, and pussy tryin to make pennies

Payin off, so friendly to flip with my people give me

If any doubt, the south, in every show today, blown away

From the wrong way, Im killin these niggas the jones way

Let the psalm say, he died as a hata

Sooner than later, shoulda pop em since the incubator

My life is droppin heron, at the sharon

Lookin, death dead on

Knowin I was dead wrong

From the sad songs, have you been to my city?

If you aint got shitty, everything is far from pretty

But Im one bad fucker thats always claimin tank

Niggas know n.o., dank, and elevate

My rank, what you call it?

Bustin out the expedition

Fiend pimpin, blowin up corns coke and cat emissions

My livin, resist the no limit and stashin a duster

Servin the cluckers, poppin it undercover

We gettin rid a bustas

[chorus:(2)] x 6

 

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