• А
  • Б
  • В
  • Г
  • Д
  • Е
  • Ж
  • З
  • И
  • К
  • Л
  • М
  • Н
  • О
  • П
  • Р
  • С
  • Т
  • У
  • Ф
  • Х
  • Ц
  • Ч
  • Ш
  • Э
  • Ю
  • Я
  • A
  • B
  • C
  • D
  • E
  • F
  • G
  • H
  • I
  • J
  • K
  • L
  • M
  • N
  • O
  • P
  • Q
  • R
  • S
  • T
  • U
  • V
  • W
  • X
  • Y
  • Z
  • #
  • Текст песни Low Profile - How Ya Livin'

    Просмотров:
    0 чел. считают текст песни верным
    0 чел. считают текст песни неверным
    Тут находится текст песни Low Profile - How Ya Livin', а также перевод, видео и клип.

    (The beat is dope)
    (Yup)
    (Word to the mother)
    (Ah yeah)
    (And it goes a little somethin like this)
    (Good God)
    (The beat is dope)
    (Yup)
    (Word to the mother)
    (And it goes a little somethin like this)

    [ VERSE 1: W.C. ]
    How ya livin, a brother kill another for a color
    Now his family's forced to sit and suffer
    Gang violence strikes again, the sound of a trigger
    News at 11, now it's one less nigger, they figure
    Self-destruction, bro, you're goin low
    How can you kill a person you don't really even know?
    In jail you played hard until one slapped you silly
    Turned you over like a girlie and rode you like a sissy
    Trapped behind bars in the middle of nowhere
    Doin 10 to 20, braid another brother's hair
    On the streets you was dope, you wasn't a joke
    Nobody could cope, you was the king of the dope
    Shoot a brother in a minute, man, that was your duty
    But now you're in jail, just givin up the booty
    Spread em, I'ma show you what it's like in a jail
    I kick reality, this ain't a crickett fairytale
    You said you had heart, homeboy, how do you figure
    Can you prove it without keeping your finger on the trigger?
    You'se a punk, a peon, a buster, bound to run
    Never usin your fist, always grabbin a gun
    Trigger-happy with the gat, brain stiffer than a manakin
    Shot an old lady, but you claim it was a accident?
    Drop the sawed-off, you must be illin
    I got a question, homes, how ya livin?

    [ VERSE 2: W.C. ]
    The beat is dope, so I come off smooth, no need to yell it
    Now what I seen on the streets, I gotta tell it
    Smokers on the corner at the rock house shack
    Tryin to scuffle up some money for a 10 piece crack
    And this is critical, pitiful, life has become more difficult
    Children on the corner holdin automatic pistols
    Taught and trained at a young age to kill another
    But the bad thing about it is, we're killin each other
    Brothers killin brothers over man-made material
    It's a like a epidemic, better yet venereal
    Only if you knew that we was dominant original
    We'd be prepared mentally as well as physical
    Some say to make it though, it's gonna take a miracle
    But they can't hold you back, brother, when you're spirtitual
    Drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin
    Yo Aladdin, break it down while I ask em how they're livin

    Yo
    Let me tell you bout this crackhead I know

    [ VERSE 3: W.C. ]
    Booby was a crackhead smokin that dust
    Like a fool, he was a sucker I never could trust
    Used to let him in my house, he didn't need no permission
    Until my goddamn VCR came up missin
    Sprung on the pipe like a fish on a hook
    Yo, Booby got labelled as a neighborhood crook
    Seen him with a color TV in his hand
    Walkin down the streets sparked, lookin for the dopeman
    Skinny as hell from just hittin the pipe
    Lost his job, his two kids, the beautiful wife
    He'd sell his mother if you gave him a chance
    Long as Booby got a piece of crack in his hands
    Hey yo, you know what's sad, or should I say it's a shame?
    The way see-are-a-see-k destroys the brain
    Think - somebody want to see these things
    Another dumb brother just smokin cocaine
    Suckin up crack until your lips turn purple
    >From rehab to rehab, you're runnin in a circle
    It's mandatory I touch this category
    That's why I made it simple, self-explanatory
    It shouldn't take long for me to state what's on my mind
    Why should I sit and write a 10-minute-long rhyme?
    Hey yo, drop the 40 ounce, you must be illin
    So I conclude this rhyme with how ya livin?

    Опрос: Верный ли текст песни?
    ДаНет