Studio Gangster lyrics

Studio Gangster lyrics

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Studio Gangster lyrics

Send "Studio Gangster" Ringtone to your Cell "I`ve seen you on the street" "Where you from?" "From Oakland" "Nah, you`re not from Oakland, I know Oakland" Let`s take a ride with the boy from the Eastside Where nothing`s a crime no roots to a bye-bye Tired of motherfuckers spitting nothing but drama rhymes Flapping his lips, and ain`t never squeezed a nine Try to compete with me fool, you ain`t competitive Stop claiming my town, before I give your ass a sedative Haymaker and uppercuts, hey nigga you weak as fuck I`m hitting like Tyson, so fool what`s up? You and your boys, you pop a whole lot of weak shit Yelling "Pooh-Man is flapping" but he`s fucking your bitch Getting ganked by your manager, did for your cash That`s what you get with your uneducated ass Pooh`s the pistol-toting, dank-smoking, bitch-choking Young player from Oakland I was taught by O.G.`s fool, what you stressing? AK`s, Mac 12`s fool, Smith & Wessons You got the audacity to false claim where you be R.I.P. to S-P-I-C-E You wanna be down with my town but my town ain`t down with ya clown So studio gangster put your motherfucking mic down I`m coming for your ass, nigga, you`re outta pocket Squeeze the trigger, eight ball in the corner pocket A lotta stories circulating round town Seems my peers in this business try to put me down He said this, she said that But you know where they talking that fool: behind my back Never had the guts to step up And my fans know that I can take a rhyme and change the flow Somewhat of a realist, cause I stay as real as this And all those other brothers can do is make a wish Huh, so I refuse to kiss they ass I got something better, motherfucker (gunshots) More and more I find myself in the media Or maybe on the screen for New Line Cinema Yeah, your lips are flapping but my bank is still stacking `93 and I ain`t out to do nothing but keep taxing Punk-ass bitch, you slimy-ass worm When will you learn you only get what the fuck you earn? I`m from the town of the motherfucking Mack Even my bitch draws a big black gat, huh So all the talking you doing gets you nowhere, player The "Peace to My Nine" bullshit I just couldn`t bear Here`s my glock, listen to me cock it The trigger is pulled, it`s eight ball in the corner pocket I`m getting tired of my name used in a bad way Even though I ain`t around, these fools got something to say Claim I`m a thug, I sell drug ficticious Man I`m telling you, these lies be vicious And these same motherfuckers be all in my face `93 I got the pop, and they all want a taste You see I`m out to get richer, in otherwords more cash Pooh be coming in first with these niggas coming in last So I take my nine and my sensor alarm And I straight go crazy and take his fucking head off For being all in my fucking mix You punk motherfucking ass hoe-trusting bitch Yeah your partner pump you up, you throw your chest in the air And then you got the nerves to badmouth a player If I was you I`d shut my motherfucking mouth Before my partner Little E blow your motherfucking head off You want some funk nigga, well you got it It`s like eight ball to the corner pocket Send " Studio Gangster" Ringtone to your Cell Studio Gangster lyrics @ Burbler Lyrics | Studio Gangster lyrics @ ELyrics | Studio Gangster lyrics @ Kovideo | Lyrics and Video @ MusicBabylon | Studio Gangster lyrics @ Songlyrics | Studio Gangster lyrics @ ELyricsWorld

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Send "POOH MAN Studio Gangster" Ringtone to your Cell

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