Lyric Down Foe My Thang
Layzie:
Creepin up outta the woods, gotta give love to my hood. Smoke, and I choke, and I creep on a come up. Niggas be tryin run
up, but I bust, and they drop to their death. Now they done up. Gun up, hunt my blunt up. Creepin til sun up, feelin slightly
shady. Call me lightweight crazy, number one nigga little Layzie. Nigga don t wanna fight, runnin deadly thugsta soldiers,
droppin them thangs. Bone done told ya. Testin nuts, so a nigga gonna have to show ya. Faded a nigga that stepped up.
Let s slip in some shit. See em alls just stood up then put a foot up that ass, had to blast that click-click. Sprayed the
gauge, all cocked, and ready to spray down to the pave. Puttin them souls up off in them graves, dwell in Hell, they ll all lay
slayed. Amazed, must I blaze. It s insane when I take that bud to the brain. Toke, choke, holdin me smoke until-a me
strained, feelin no pain. Better be packin your weapon, cause my shit is kept and I m ready to let loose sawed-off hangin ,
danglin up under the trench, fin to blow that chest, but you shoulda wore a vest, fool, cause the Bone don t front. Nigga check
or get wrecked. Got Flesh on the set, with his finger on a TEC, loc d out with the khakis and high techs. Respect them St.
Clair thugs hustlin drugs, gotta make that money, man. Rap be the thang, and the fact remains that we owns that rap game.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Flesh:
We runnin with no hoes, and the bigger Bone that s known for gettin his swerve on and kickin it on the stage. (Off in the rag),
gettin my serve on. So, leave em alone. They come. They need to be shown that Bone done chrome, blown, lay slugs up in
to them domes, so go on. You d rather go run a ho check, if you wanna test nuts with Flesh, I m feelin to lynch ya, mo murda.
You re runnin up eye to eye with death. Praise the Flesh, now nevertheless you re takin a loss, and this slug snuffed up, and
dumpin the body up off in a coffin. Remember the vow said a preacher, me teach em, (winnin /greetin ) em with me nine,
runnin with thugs and hustlas and murderin em every time.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Bizzy:
Remember the Ripsta, sinster creeper, reapin up that set with a street-sweeper. Gotta take a breather from sippin me liter.
Rippin that flesh when I sneak with a meat cleaver. When I m in me smug, never the studio thugsta. Buck em. Buck em.
Motherfuck em. Thug never done bluff and fuck them bustas. So back up off me. No stack won t let me slip. When a nigga
start to step, the weapon, put em in the graveyard. Bitch, better buy your vest, then test Rest, the Ripsta, quick to pick up the
hollow points and put em up in your brains, nigga. My little nigga, Mo! Hart, my bigger nigga, Sin, dash fast, get up with the
block at last blast they ass, pass cash, then stash, me can killa for free for homies and family. Tell em to see me, that realer
nigga, the Ripsta, put em in rivers. It don t stop. Drop P s to the SCT s and double glock. Pop. Pop. Here s the slug from
the twelve gauge thug. You don t want fuck with, no buck with, Rip s breakin em bustas. Blood, me fillin em (...?...) me
murder. I show no mercy. Turn your back, clack back me gat, diggin em in the dirt, see.
Krayzie:
Get ready to duck, bitch, or get fucked up. They never could fuck with me sawed-off pump. Bitch, if I m flippin or load my
clip in, nigga, y all all fucked. Gotta make my money, slippin me pump in my trench, and then click it. Now, nigga, it s rippin ,
steady clippin , not missin , thuggin with me click, and now Leatherface takin your life so ya best stay back, tossin the rest in a
coffin, cause niggas be runnin up, talkin trash. Buck a guard while walkin past. Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thangs,
and I claim and hang with Ts, niggas that make cheese for the green leaves. Gotta give peace, cause they swang these. Come,
nigga, meet my hood and fulla nothin but thugs and hustlas: Sin never been no busta, he ll stuff and buck-buck em and dump
em, bitch. Nigga, muthafuck em, Krayzie don t love em, put em to rest and run, so the po-po don t catch up--nigga can t be
arrested. One M-11 me sendin niggas to hell, and you re feelin 187. Eleven dwellin better from the cell, and nigga that pick
up Mossberg, the quicker you to the curb. Put one to the temple, pump, to Mr. Policeman. That s all you heard.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
Creepin up outta the woods, gotta give love to my hood. Smoke, and I choke, and I creep on a come up. Niggas be tryin run
up, but I bust, and they drop to their death. Now they done up. Gun up, hunt my blunt up. Creepin til sun up, feelin slightly
shady. Call me lightweight crazy, number one nigga little Layzie. Nigga don t wanna fight, runnin deadly thugsta soldiers,
droppin them thangs. Bone done told ya. Testin nuts, so a nigga gonna have to show ya. Faded a nigga that stepped up.
Let s slip in some shit. See em alls just stood up then put a foot up that ass, had to blast that click-click. Sprayed the
gauge, all cocked, and ready to spray down to the pave. Puttin them souls up off in them graves, dwell in Hell, they ll all lay
slayed. Amazed, must I blaze. It s insane when I take that bud to the brain. Toke, choke, holdin me smoke until-a me
strained, feelin no pain. Better be packin your weapon, cause my shit is kept and I m ready to let loose sawed-off hangin ,
danglin up under the trench, fin to blow that chest, but you shoulda wore a vest, fool, cause the Bone don t front. Nigga check
or get wrecked. Got Flesh on the set, with his finger on a TEC, loc d out with the khakis and high techs. Respect them St.
Clair thugs hustlin drugs, gotta make that money, man. Rap be the thang, and the fact remains that we owns that rap game.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Flesh:
We runnin with no hoes, and the bigger Bone that s known for gettin his swerve on and kickin it on the stage. (Off in the rag),
gettin my serve on. So, leave em alone. They come. They need to be shown that Bone done chrome, blown, lay slugs up in
to them domes, so go on. You d rather go run a ho check, if you wanna test nuts with Flesh, I m feelin to lynch ya, mo murda.
You re runnin up eye to eye with death. Praise the Flesh, now nevertheless you re takin a loss, and this slug snuffed up, and
dumpin the body up off in a coffin. Remember the vow said a preacher, me teach em, (winnin /greetin ) em with me nine,
runnin with thugs and hustlas and murderin em every time.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Bizzy:
Remember the Ripsta, sinster creeper, reapin up that set with a street-sweeper. Gotta take a breather from sippin me liter.
Rippin that flesh when I sneak with a meat cleaver. When I m in me smug, never the studio thugsta. Buck em. Buck em.
Motherfuck em. Thug never done bluff and fuck them bustas. So back up off me. No stack won t let me slip. When a nigga
start to step, the weapon, put em in the graveyard. Bitch, better buy your vest, then test Rest, the Ripsta, quick to pick up the
hollow points and put em up in your brains, nigga. My little nigga, Mo! Hart, my bigger nigga, Sin, dash fast, get up with the
block at last blast they ass, pass cash, then stash, me can killa for free for homies and family. Tell em to see me, that realer
nigga, the Ripsta, put em in rivers. It don t stop. Drop P s to the SCT s and double glock. Pop. Pop. Here s the slug from
the twelve gauge thug. You don t want fuck with, no buck with, Rip s breakin em bustas. Blood, me fillin em (...?...) me
murder. I show no mercy. Turn your back, clack back me gat, diggin em in the dirt, see.
Krayzie:
Get ready to duck, bitch, or get fucked up. They never could fuck with me sawed-off pump. Bitch, if I m flippin or load my
clip in, nigga, y all all fucked. Gotta make my money, slippin me pump in my trench, and then click it. Now, nigga, it s rippin ,
steady clippin , not missin , thuggin with me click, and now Leatherface takin your life so ya best stay back, tossin the rest in a
coffin, cause niggas be runnin up, talkin trash. Buck a guard while walkin past. Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thangs,
and I claim and hang with Ts, niggas that make cheese for the green leaves. Gotta give peace, cause they swang these. Come,
nigga, meet my hood and fulla nothin but thugs and hustlas: Sin never been no busta, he ll stuff and buck-buck em and dump
em, bitch. Nigga, muthafuck em, Krayzie don t love em, put em to rest and run, so the po-po don t catch up--nigga can t be
arrested. One M-11 me sendin niggas to hell, and you re feelin 187. Eleven dwellin better from the cell, and nigga that pick
up Mossberg, the quicker you to the curb. Put one to the temple, pump, to Mr. Policeman. That s all you heard.
Bang, bang, gotta get down for my thang.
Bone be me gang.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
