Shyheim - Real Bad Boys lyrics
[Shyheim - Real Bad Boys lyrics]
It's real
Did you ever see that type of nigga
Who don't be nobody
I'm talkin about blood clot, he ain't squat
Like the muthafucka from high
School that everybody forgot
While you was gettin chopped and dropped
I was blowin up the spot
Speedin to the top, like a speed knot
Gettin more props than Jamaica got weed spots
I got this paper or not
For the love of hoes and designer clothes
Cuz I got more hoes, than you just dodo
While you was the world iz mine!
Ah! Yo 1995 (world iz mine)
Screw on the silencers
Screw on the silencers
Cuz real bad boys move in silence
Screw on the silencers
Screw on the silencers
Cuz real bad boys move in silence
I stash butterflie knives and
45's in ma garments
Fuck nigga, I take a pussy god quick
Peep ma stee in the streets well respected
Like the rectomatic dime bags of the Method
Zee bomb on heads like what kid
I keep 'em on slow mo son I'm
The champion to boy don't run
I make it death fun when I kill ya
I take a power driller and drill
It right through ya liver ha, Ha, Ha
I'm ruthless possesed by the devil
Fuck fire pa' I'm on a hole other level
Tha mess tablets make ya mind flick
Ma murdarous styles I kick make
Female groupies lick the dick
Word to the muva, I put this on tour wicked
The first that fakin I'mma lace
'em and dislocate 'em
Real niggas do real things youknowhatImean?
The first to fake the gangsta lean
Get throwned in the fiend
Killa Kane where ya at?
GP be packin' gats, runnin'
Nah son it won't be none a that
The clips who fat plus long
I love doin' wrong
Plus killin' copperz is Ma favourite song
I roll with criminals, coldbloody
Murderers, drug hustlaz, suburban areas
I know ya heard of us
Big up, big up to ma niggas in the bricks
Bad boys, you stings on the hucious tip
I brush you shit quick phoney G'z won't call
I make it
Happen like God test me if ya wanna die Lord
I wear black to keep ma ID on the low
I'm all about makin' dough at the fast tempo
Fuck shootin' up shit that only
Makes the spot hot
And we don't need the booshaa
Blast the blood clot!
Load tha gats up son cuz once again it's on
Niggas must be thinkin' that
I'm sweet a somethin'
I ain't frontin, word to life
I murder somethin'! Ha, Ha, Ha
Fuck y'all crab niggas bring it to me
Word up i like this
Did you ever see that type of nigga
Who don't be nobody
I'm talkin about blood clot, he ain't squat
Like the muthafucka from high
School that everybody forgot
While you was gettin chopped and dropped
I was blowin up the spot
Speedin to the top, like a speed knot
Gettin more props than Jamaica got weed spots
I got this paper or not
For the love of hoes and designer clothes
Cuz I got more hoes, than you just dodo
While you was the world iz mine!
Ah! Yo 1995 (world iz mine)
Screw on the silencers
Screw on the silencers
Cuz real bad boys move in silence
Screw on the silencers
Screw on the silencers
Cuz real bad boys move in silence
I stash butterflie knives and
45's in ma garments
Fuck nigga, I take a pussy god quick
Peep ma stee in the streets well respected
Like the rectomatic dime bags of the Method
Zee bomb on heads like what kid
I keep 'em on slow mo son I'm
The champion to boy don't run
I make it death fun when I kill ya
I take a power driller and drill
It right through ya liver ha, Ha, Ha
I'm ruthless possesed by the devil
Fuck fire pa' I'm on a hole other level
Tha mess tablets make ya mind flick
Ma murdarous styles I kick make
Female groupies lick the dick
Word to the muva, I put this on tour wicked
The first that fakin I'mma lace
'em and dislocate 'em
Real niggas do real things youknowhatImean?
The first to fake the gangsta lean
Get throwned in the fiend
Killa Kane where ya at?
GP be packin' gats, runnin'
Nah son it won't be none a that
The clips who fat plus long
I love doin' wrong
Plus killin' copperz is Ma favourite song
I roll with criminals, coldbloody
Murderers, drug hustlaz, suburban areas
I know ya heard of us
Big up, big up to ma niggas in the bricks
Bad boys, you stings on the hucious tip
I brush you shit quick phoney G'z won't call
I make it
Happen like God test me if ya wanna die Lord
I wear black to keep ma ID on the low
I'm all about makin' dough at the fast tempo
Fuck shootin' up shit that only
Makes the spot hot
And we don't need the booshaa
Blast the blood clot!
Load tha gats up son cuz once again it's on
Niggas must be thinkin' that
I'm sweet a somethin'
I ain't frontin, word to life
I murder somethin'! Ha, Ha, Ha
Fuck y'all crab niggas bring it to me
Word up i like this