Slaine, Big Left, La Coka Nostra - The LCN Anthem lyrics
[Slaine, Big Left, La Coka Nostra - The LCN Anthem lyrics]
I’ve been hustling from chum
Scuffling with skunks
Yeah I’m dope motherfucker
I ain’t fucking with the junk
Nah, you can get your homeboys
Stuffed up in the trunk
While I’m sipping on a brew and
I’m puffing on a blunt
And I can get up on a plane at six am
Cause these stewardesses’ll see how sick I am
Give me so the pussy’s all
Up on my dick again you’re addicted to me
Come and get a fix my friend
La Coka Nostra, LCN
I’m in front of the mirror
Staring at myself again
I’m too far gone now, ain’t no helping him
Are you a gambler? I’ll bet
You let the Celtics win
Put a rhyme on a page with the felted pen
Let my rage out the cage
Punch you in the eye, welt your skin
It’s obvious I got it now, psychotic
With the narcotic recipe
Some’ll let you body down
Where I’m from we don’t play those games
Y’all know we got the smart bombs, fucker
We don’t need to aim
Surface-to-air missiles
Fifty caliber pistols
Mark 29’s equipped with portable melts
Two nines, a thirty-eight
And a snub forty-five minus two
That’s ninety-nine ways that you can die
It’s true, La Coka official guerilla shit
Fold you up quick just like manila get
Big Left get the spot hot like drop dimes
I been dope since the day
I wrote my first rhyme
You been hooked like the time
You sniffed your first line
And been shook since you heard of me in ‘89
L-A plus the coka, pull out the toaster
Pop a couple off for me, hit the post
Officer down send a couple rounds down range
Sounds strange with lead up in your brains
Biatch
Scuffling with skunks
Yeah I’m dope motherfucker
I ain’t fucking with the junk
Nah, you can get your homeboys
Stuffed up in the trunk
While I’m sipping on a brew and
I’m puffing on a blunt
And I can get up on a plane at six am
Cause these stewardesses’ll see how sick I am
Give me so the pussy’s all
Up on my dick again you’re addicted to me
Come and get a fix my friend
La Coka Nostra, LCN
I’m in front of the mirror
Staring at myself again
I’m too far gone now, ain’t no helping him
Are you a gambler? I’ll bet
You let the Celtics win
Put a rhyme on a page with the felted pen
Let my rage out the cage
Punch you in the eye, welt your skin
It’s obvious I got it now, psychotic
With the narcotic recipe
Some’ll let you body down
Where I’m from we don’t play those games
Y’all know we got the smart bombs, fucker
We don’t need to aim
Surface-to-air missiles
Fifty caliber pistols
Mark 29’s equipped with portable melts
Two nines, a thirty-eight
And a snub forty-five minus two
That’s ninety-nine ways that you can die
It’s true, La Coka official guerilla shit
Fold you up quick just like manila get
Big Left get the spot hot like drop dimes
I been dope since the day
I wrote my first rhyme
You been hooked like the time
You sniffed your first line
And been shook since you heard of me in ‘89
L-A plus the coka, pull out the toaster
Pop a couple off for me, hit the post
Officer down send a couple rounds down range
Sounds strange with lead up in your brains
Biatch