Cookin Soul - Come on ! lyrics
[Cookin Soul - Come on ! lyrics]
The nigga was motherfuckin hyped up (Right?)
The nigga just grabbed the nigga
Snuffed the nigga and it was on from there
The motherfucker there wasn't
Nuttin stoppin him
(What what did the rest of his niggas do?)
Man the motherfuckers was just
Ready for anything
Them niggas was packin burners
Them niggas was ready to fight (Oh shit)
Whatever we had to do holmes (Uh, huh)
Niggas was on the real flipmo' holmes
(Uh, huh)
It was just comin out like a motherfucker
(Right) the nigga amped be like come on
Come on motherfucker!
Come on, motherfuckеrs, come on
Come on, motherfuckеrs, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
I got seven Mac-11's, about eight 38's
Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's the shit's never end
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer
And them 357 bitches
Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion
The yacht
The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks
Huh, that's how I got the weed spot
I shot dread in the head
Took the bread and the lamb spread
Lil' Gotti got the shotty to your body
So don't resist or you might miss Christmas
I tote guns, I make number runs
I give MCs the runs dripping
When I throw my clip in the AK
I slay from far away
Everybody hit the D-E-C-K
My slow flows remarkable, peace to Matteo
Now we smoke weed like Tony
Montana sniff the yayo
That's crazy blunts, mad L's
My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells
Oh my God I'm dropping shit like a pigeon
I hope you're listening
Smacking babies at they christening
So you better grab your pistol
'Cause if you sit still
I'm gonna make your fucking shit spill
And I'm talking 'bout buckets
Why did I have to do it?
Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun
Nigga bust it
'Cause I got mo' shots to pop ya
Big Poppa, breaking you off something proper
Signing off is the hardcore rap singer
AKA crack slinger, bring it any time nigga
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Well, why not blow up the spot with Sadat?
Release the brainstorm to make
Your motherfucking brain warm
A strange form, something kind of lyrical
Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual
Well, in God we trust, guns I bust
Got that disgusting, sewer-style dumping
And, uh, do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that I bring?
Make an MC wanna sing for a living
Take the beatdown we fucking giving
C'mon, motherfucker!
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
The nigga just grabbed the nigga
Snuffed the nigga and it was on from there
The motherfucker there wasn't
Nuttin stoppin him
(What what did the rest of his niggas do?)
Man the motherfuckers was just
Ready for anything
Them niggas was packin burners
Them niggas was ready to fight (Oh shit)
Whatever we had to do holmes (Uh, huh)
Niggas was on the real flipmo' holmes
(Uh, huh)
It was just comin out like a motherfucker
(Right) the nigga amped be like come on
Come on motherfucker!
Come on, motherfuckеrs, come on
Come on, motherfuckеrs, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
I got seven Mac-11's, about eight 38's
Nine 9's, ten Mac-10's the shit's never end
You can't touch my riches
Even if you had MC Hammer
And them 357 bitches
Biggie Smalls, the millionaire, the mansion
The yacht
The two weed spots, the two hot Glocks
Huh, that's how I got the weed spot
I shot dread in the head
Took the bread and the lamb spread
Lil' Gotti got the shotty to your body
So don't resist or you might miss Christmas
I tote guns, I make number runs
I give MCs the runs dripping
When I throw my clip in the AK
I slay from far away
Everybody hit the D-E-C-K
My slow flows remarkable, peace to Matteo
Now we smoke weed like Tony
Montana sniff the yayo
That's crazy blunts, mad L's
My voice excels from the avenue to jail cells
Oh my God I'm dropping shit like a pigeon
I hope you're listening
Smacking babies at they christening
So you better grab your pistol
'Cause if you sit still
I'm gonna make your fucking shit spill
And I'm talking 'bout buckets
Why did I have to do it?
Sadat said fuck it, you got a gun
Nigga bust it
'Cause I got mo' shots to pop ya
Big Poppa, breaking you off something proper
Signing off is the hardcore rap singer
AKA crack slinger, bring it any time nigga
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Well, why not blow up the spot with Sadat?
Release the brainstorm to make
Your motherfucking brain warm
A strange form, something kind of lyrical
Biggie the bastard, Sadat's kind of spiritual
Well, in God we trust, guns I bust
Got that disgusting, sewer-style dumping
And, uh, do you know where you're going to?
Do you like the things that I bring?
Make an MC wanna sing for a living
Take the beatdown we fucking giving
C'mon, motherfucker!
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on
Come on, motherfuckers, come on