Nash, Hall - They Killed Pookie lyrics
[Nash, Hall - They Killed Pookie lyrics]
Aye yo aye yo my kicks cost $2000
Same wing for a week, but the money piling
Caught a body up in Webster Hall
I used to battle for commissary, I never lost
The '86 Saab apple sauce
Fashion Week tiger sweeten up the catalogue
Thought I seen Chine Gun so I got a ghost
One head shot your brains, adios
Chain on the S got chain
Gave the fiends some work
They used the stove, i did my thing
More money bring more pussy
I ain't a rapper, nigga, don't push me
Can't wait to see Bacon one day
And somebody die everyday my way
Mister SE marvelous
The coupe 300 like Spartacus
I'm from where your mom's on
Crack and you're fatherless
The SK, I stuck the cartridge in
Fryin' work in the skillet
Mix the margarine i'm slaughterin'
Unfold the AR like a futon
Body you with a suit on like Brother Mouzone
A thousand pounds of 'Zona
Straight from Tuscon
My youngin let off a drum
From back of a Yukon
Jump out the Phantom, Don C 2 on
Cuban weigh two kilos, I got two on
Still reppin' the same blocks that I grew on
Machine bitch I kill everything I spew on
M-16's with the shell catchers
I'll bet you rappin' ass
Niggas never felt pressure
I like the Concord 11's
But the 12's fresher
Movin' straight drop cuz it sell better
We the illest, don't misconstrue
I stay with a bitch or two
Stomp a bone out you in my Christian Lou
Lift you off your feet
I get the blinkin' I ain't missin' you
I'm Conway nigga, every verse a brick or two
My dog knock you down for a half a cake
Then run to Atlanta like Pastor Ma$e
They gave Don seven for a ratchet case
Killa Tone droppin' bodies
He ain't tat his face
I use the G code just to crack the safe
Griselda bucket on my rattlesnake
Fryin' lobster with a glass of grapes
Hall and Nash, we winnin'
Them niggas had to hate
Same wing for a week, but the money piling
Caught a body up in Webster Hall
I used to battle for commissary, I never lost
The '86 Saab apple sauce
Fashion Week tiger sweeten up the catalogue
Thought I seen Chine Gun so I got a ghost
One head shot your brains, adios
Chain on the S got chain
Gave the fiends some work
They used the stove, i did my thing
More money bring more pussy
I ain't a rapper, nigga, don't push me
Can't wait to see Bacon one day
And somebody die everyday my way
Mister SE marvelous
The coupe 300 like Spartacus
I'm from where your mom's on
Crack and you're fatherless
The SK, I stuck the cartridge in
Fryin' work in the skillet
Mix the margarine i'm slaughterin'
Unfold the AR like a futon
Body you with a suit on like Brother Mouzone
A thousand pounds of 'Zona
Straight from Tuscon
My youngin let off a drum
From back of a Yukon
Jump out the Phantom, Don C 2 on
Cuban weigh two kilos, I got two on
Still reppin' the same blocks that I grew on
Machine bitch I kill everything I spew on
M-16's with the shell catchers
I'll bet you rappin' ass
Niggas never felt pressure
I like the Concord 11's
But the 12's fresher
Movin' straight drop cuz it sell better
We the illest, don't misconstrue
I stay with a bitch or two
Stomp a bone out you in my Christian Lou
Lift you off your feet
I get the blinkin' I ain't missin' you
I'm Conway nigga, every verse a brick or two
My dog knock you down for a half a cake
Then run to Atlanta like Pastor Ma$e
They gave Don seven for a ratchet case
Killa Tone droppin' bodies
He ain't tat his face
I use the G code just to crack the safe
Griselda bucket on my rattlesnake
Fryin' lobster with a glass of grapes
Hall and Nash, we winnin'
Them niggas had to hate