Crooked I, Phobia - Get Off Tha Block lyrics
[Crooked I, Phobia - Get Off Tha Block lyrics]
Yeah it's only right the Bad Guy
Hook up with the Bad Girl
Phobia woo!
Aha! It's Tha Row World Order baby
Vegas, drop the heat, c'mon we back!
Death Row's back (here we go again)
Death Row's back
(you better get off the Block nigga)
And we wearing a smile, nuff areas style
Who can bury us now?
Listen (DEATH ROW's BACK) Ghetto America's child
I'm looking down on you
As if I was Darius Miles
I'm an abusive cat
Leading cops on an elusive chase
We make music only fools embrace
We can feud dude, choose the place
I keep a tool in waist, lil
Dude I remove your face
Uhh
Finally, you minor league and we major
Major change the way you make
Your music ain't a gangsta
Gave the gangsta flava they bang
In their CD changer
Came to reign within, the game is in danger
Banging hit's that ain't even been rivalled
I, carry a rifle, I cherish survival
I'm, the Bad Guy that's my area title
And Suge's the real Simon, so fuck
(American Idol)
And we banging the R, that's the Row
Death Row we raising the bar
Tell em
(Death Row's back) getting braids in the car
Look at Crooked damn hard work
Made him a star
Plus meanwhile my team scheme wild for cream
I hustle like I got nineteen mouths to feed
So leave out the scene, speed down the cops
Or you'll bleed out your spleen
We bring out them thieves
This trick is quick to hit ya
With some clips to split ya
I'd rather hit ya with some hit's
Than be a permanent fixture
The clips spit, we spit sick
Get the picture?
Cos if you spit sicker then
Niggaz it'd get you richer
And for my enemies I don't care much
They like some ugly ass bitchs
Taking pictures getting airbrushed
They not who they appear to be
We beating wimps up
I knock a pimp straight down
Out of his Pimp Cuff
And I demands my love
Throw ya hands high join the Bad Guy club
(Death Row's back) why share my thug
Especially when thugging is my anti-drug
Get merked like it's nothing
That's goon talk
Give me three feet you
Bustaz better moon-walk
Oh yeah we cop the benz
Drop the chevvy on them monster rims
While y'all can rock milk-chocolate timbs
Glock shots chop ya limbs, I sock your chin
I'm something different baby who can
Cop block the skills?
Not your man
You know I got my heater with me
Leavin' you in need of a kidney
Come on and sing it with me
Get off Tha Block haha get off his dick
Yeah, Crooked I nigga that's right
The realest, the realest Record label nigga
Hook up with the Bad Girl
Phobia woo!
Aha! It's Tha Row World Order baby
Vegas, drop the heat, c'mon we back!
Death Row's back (here we go again)
Death Row's back
(you better get off the Block nigga)
And we wearing a smile, nuff areas style
Who can bury us now?
Listen (DEATH ROW's BACK) Ghetto America's child
I'm looking down on you
As if I was Darius Miles
I'm an abusive cat
Leading cops on an elusive chase
We make music only fools embrace
We can feud dude, choose the place
I keep a tool in waist, lil
Dude I remove your face
Uhh
Finally, you minor league and we major
Major change the way you make
Your music ain't a gangsta
Gave the gangsta flava they bang
In their CD changer
Came to reign within, the game is in danger
Banging hit's that ain't even been rivalled
I, carry a rifle, I cherish survival
I'm, the Bad Guy that's my area title
And Suge's the real Simon, so fuck
(American Idol)
And we banging the R, that's the Row
Death Row we raising the bar
Tell em
(Death Row's back) getting braids in the car
Look at Crooked damn hard work
Made him a star
Plus meanwhile my team scheme wild for cream
I hustle like I got nineteen mouths to feed
So leave out the scene, speed down the cops
Or you'll bleed out your spleen
We bring out them thieves
This trick is quick to hit ya
With some clips to split ya
I'd rather hit ya with some hit's
Than be a permanent fixture
The clips spit, we spit sick
Get the picture?
Cos if you spit sicker then
Niggaz it'd get you richer
And for my enemies I don't care much
They like some ugly ass bitchs
Taking pictures getting airbrushed
They not who they appear to be
We beating wimps up
I knock a pimp straight down
Out of his Pimp Cuff
And I demands my love
Throw ya hands high join the Bad Guy club
(Death Row's back) why share my thug
Especially when thugging is my anti-drug
Get merked like it's nothing
That's goon talk
Give me three feet you
Bustaz better moon-walk
Oh yeah we cop the benz
Drop the chevvy on them monster rims
While y'all can rock milk-chocolate timbs
Glock shots chop ya limbs, I sock your chin
I'm something different baby who can
Cop block the skills?
Not your man
You know I got my heater with me
Leavin' you in need of a kidney
Come on and sing it with me
Get off Tha Block haha get off his dick
Yeah, Crooked I nigga that's right
The realest, the realest Record label nigga