Brotha Lynch Hung, C-Bo, Spice 1, Yukmouth - Don't Stop lyrics

First off we the mutha fuckin Thug Lords
Now for all you niggas bangin
That mutha fuckin West Coast like nigga?
YouknowhatI'msayin? And fa sho no lie
29th Street Crip Gang nigga
C-Bo holdin nothin back
Yukmouth, Spice 1 and we do it live
For the world it's still fuck off
You know what and we
In that you knowhatI'msayin?
And this how we handle business, nigga
From the early 80's to these 2 G's, boy

Huh, We blaze em up with AK's
Double my clip and we dip
Set trip and get hit, flip Crip or get zipped
Run with the Crips, catch me clumsy in the 6
6 rag invertable slide divertable, murder ya
Dead and gone never heard of ya
Now we stuffin lead in the crome
Bout to hurt ya
Pack ya down in the earth
We put work in like Mad Dirt
Odainers twistin like the revolver
Or the earth
Fuck church, it's a must I burst and curse
Yeah I'm a West Coast Bad Boy
But a thousand times worst
Dime piece
Gun in her purse, one in her skirt
Cross me, bet ya life that my bitch burst
Got me lockin down the world
For the North Pole
Too cold to hold lyrics froze
My wrist and my hoes
Number one Thug Lord, fuck with us!
I won't lie the whole world
Gonna rush with us
Tell em

Thug Lord niggas boss up and don't stop
Thugged out niggas boss up and don't stop
Thug Lord niggas boss up and don't stop
Thugged out niggas boss up and don't stop
Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang
Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Thug Lord niggas we do the damn thang

Nigga you listenin to the B-O-S-S-I-L-I-N-I
Yukmouth and C-Bo you know they
Label us born to die
But I pistol slap you and
Two niggas like 3 Stooges
Walk over to the bar and sip on Gin and juice
It's just the gangster in me, the thug in me
Mug in me and get yo
Fro pushed back like homie
You lil clown ass nigga walkin in bozo shoes
While my niggas out here doin hits
Makin the news
What you think you gon' dodge
These bullets like Matrix?
Like a condom, I even lay teck on a bitch
Now that's some cold shit
A low lick, a cold hit
Leave a nigga at a funeral
Cryin with no bitch
Some Thug Lord shit nigga shoot up ya coffin
Niggas cross game get murdered by bosses
Cost's yo mutha fuckin life when
You play with the rules
They got a n-uh-nigga still singin the blues

Blow! Niggas boss up and don't stop
Thugged out niggas boss up and don't stop
Thugged out niggas boss up and don't stop
Thugged out niggas boss up and don't stop
Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Thug Lord niggas we do the damn thang
Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang

Bitch, next up to bat, Yukmouth
Destroy the earth with rap
Imagine pain worse than that
My niggas coppin birds of crack
Servin track, cock back and burst the gat
I want my turf back
I hurt that, work that, twerk that
Rolex speed spot like Joe Pesci
AK ready, we deadly, bitch!
I'm like Hannibal
Rector eat MC's for breakfast
I'm the hardest artist to sign
To a label in Texas
Yes it's that nigga with the
Platinum grill full of princesses
Invisible set, straight up herbal molescents
In less than 60 seconds I
Kill em leavin em breathless
Don't fuck with bread
Run outta state bit records
With chin checkers in Benz
Stretches who win cheddar
When fakers scramble liquid hands
On niggas with vindettas
I'm like 10 fraredders bustin off
At the same time
Payed rhymes
I kick shit off when it's game time

Blow! blow, blididat, blididat!
Blow, blow, blididat, blididat, blididat!
Blow, blow, blididat, blididat
Blididat, blididat blalalalat!
Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Thug Lord niggas we do the damn thang
Blow! Blada baba bo, blada baba bang bang
Spice, Yuk and Bo we do the damn thang

I'm hittin niggas so hard with
These you would need Jesus
Beleive these is yo last days
I can see you cleavich
That's why I'm fuckin you
With the 9 millimeter
And I feed a nigga with the heater
He was a long bleeder
And he taste good with fajitas
Heat em up now eat
Member me? Nigga that be eatin raw meat
With tiger claw feet so it's easy to creep
You leave me no reason but
To leave niggas bleedin
Recieve grievence with extra Season
Of the Sicc
I pick em off like Brock Marion
He kept starin so I took care of him
Shot him up with heroin
Like malt liqour
To the liver hitter, to the river with ya
Dip ya down deep, down deep
Where pirana heat they eat they meat
Heat up they seats
They seats with metal from
The Southside ghetto
I swear I'll make y'all mutha fuckas yellow
Tired of diggin ditches like the GoodFellows
Not good with mellow, I keep the meat
Keep it hangin in the closet like pig feet
Delete, come with the

Blow! Blalat! Blow, blow, blow blididat
Blow! Blalalat! (ahah)
Blow! Blididat, blididat!
Blow, blow! Blalalalat! Blow (ahaha)
Blow!