Lyric Land Of Tha Heartless
Krayzie:
Don t niggas don t wanna start shit. Buck, buck to the bang. Sendin bullets to the brain, nigga. Yeah.
A nigga that always at my city with me, now, who was that nigga they put in the plastic? Nigga that thought he could bang.
That nigga s stuck. That nigga s blasted. They got my man from the Land. Never ran, I step with deadly men. If ya come a
little bit closer, I can turn you into sand. Now follow me, now roll, stroll down to Cleveland. We thuggin , we theivin , we put it
in deep, and the blood is seepin . Got niggas in alleys, fuck niggas in badges. We say bang. Eighty-eight through the ten-five
(and Clair). St. Clair ain t shit to fuck with. Pumpin , Krayzie be bumpin , dumpin the bloody body. Me never knew one that
could flow with the tongue. We comin to shoot up your posse. My niggas--they comin up out the woods, to get the goods.
Krayzie be thug, and (want to) die--that s from comin up in my hood. We killas. Get a gat, pap, pap, clack back me gun,
bust one, they done. Cleveland is where we from. Hearts--thugs have none.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
Bizzy:
Soon as I hit the scene, (?), feelin for a pistol, but I didn t have no gun. Come with original thugsta shit. I be flippin it with me
tongue. Nigga, Cleveland is the city where we come from, and I show them hoes up outta the Clair that thugs don t run from
none. Follow rip one, now, on and on, them definitely got me back. And I m throwin up St. Clair thugsta niggas, with or
without my gat. Forever be ready to pull out me murder tools East 99 style, fools. Me put it in mind on murderin you,
followin whenever me murderous trues. Niggas that claim to bang bang, when it comes to slang thangs, they do. They know
they cannot buck me, one of em sure to slug me, but they hope the thug I be, Bizzy. Better let em him be or they ll see.
Nigga, hangin , swangin , never to miss. The Biz is me.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
Layzie:
Livin in the Land of the Heartless with a sawed-off pump, shootin craps. Hand on my strap, roll thick, cause they jack.
Runnin up on the Bone, you needin to be pap pap. Soldier thugs be pumpin them slugs, defendin they drugs. When they roll
up, niggas be creepin up slow, heavy packed with they gats, and try to pull a hold up, but nigga, now hold on. Wanna test the
Bone? The gauge is shown. Any is mind blown, lookin down the barrel of this Mossberg chrome to the dome. Bone, clack
back me gauge in a rage, copper take these here rocks. Double glock, my pistols be pumpin and buckin out shots whenever
the trouble knocks. Steadily hittin , me clean up, get lit up for ready your soul to burn, and I blow your shit up, get em on the
get up, cause niggas must learn. Yearnin to earn cheese. Ready to die, so niggas can t take these. Wantin to clock G s, want
to move keys, not takin a loss on my green leaves, please. East nine nine, crime finds mine, strayin on this road to hell, and
prison walls, testin balls, for the cause, gotta get that sale, and bailin , kickin up mud, rollin , I get with my thugs. Rippin apart
shit, so nigga, don t start shit, cause we kill in the Land of the Heartless. Die.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
Don t niggas don t wanna start shit. Buck, buck to the bang. Sendin bullets to the brain, nigga. Yeah.
A nigga that always at my city with me, now, who was that nigga they put in the plastic? Nigga that thought he could bang.
That nigga s stuck. That nigga s blasted. They got my man from the Land. Never ran, I step with deadly men. If ya come a
little bit closer, I can turn you into sand. Now follow me, now roll, stroll down to Cleveland. We thuggin , we theivin , we put it
in deep, and the blood is seepin . Got niggas in alleys, fuck niggas in badges. We say bang. Eighty-eight through the ten-five
(and Clair). St. Clair ain t shit to fuck with. Pumpin , Krayzie be bumpin , dumpin the bloody body. Me never knew one that
could flow with the tongue. We comin to shoot up your posse. My niggas--they comin up out the woods, to get the goods.
Krayzie be thug, and (want to) die--that s from comin up in my hood. We killas. Get a gat, pap, pap, clack back me gun,
bust one, they done. Cleveland is where we from. Hearts--thugs have none.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
Bizzy:
Soon as I hit the scene, (?), feelin for a pistol, but I didn t have no gun. Come with original thugsta shit. I be flippin it with me
tongue. Nigga, Cleveland is the city where we come from, and I show them hoes up outta the Clair that thugs don t run from
none. Follow rip one, now, on and on, them definitely got me back. And I m throwin up St. Clair thugsta niggas, with or
without my gat. Forever be ready to pull out me murder tools East 99 style, fools. Me put it in mind on murderin you,
followin whenever me murderous trues. Niggas that claim to bang bang, when it comes to slang thangs, they do. They know
they cannot buck me, one of em sure to slug me, but they hope the thug I be, Bizzy. Better let em him be or they ll see.
Nigga, hangin , swangin , never to miss. The Biz is me.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
Layzie:
Livin in the Land of the Heartless with a sawed-off pump, shootin craps. Hand on my strap, roll thick, cause they jack.
Runnin up on the Bone, you needin to be pap pap. Soldier thugs be pumpin them slugs, defendin they drugs. When they roll
up, niggas be creepin up slow, heavy packed with they gats, and try to pull a hold up, but nigga, now hold on. Wanna test the
Bone? The gauge is shown. Any is mind blown, lookin down the barrel of this Mossberg chrome to the dome. Bone, clack
back me gauge in a rage, copper take these here rocks. Double glock, my pistols be pumpin and buckin out shots whenever
the trouble knocks. Steadily hittin , me clean up, get lit up for ready your soul to burn, and I blow your shit up, get em on the
get up, cause niggas must learn. Yearnin to earn cheese. Ready to die, so niggas can t take these. Wantin to clock G s, want
to move keys, not takin a loss on my green leaves, please. East nine nine, crime finds mine, strayin on this road to hell, and
prison walls, testin balls, for the cause, gotta get that sale, and bailin , kickin up mud, rollin , I get with my thugs. Rippin apart
shit, so nigga, don t start shit, cause we kill in the Land of the Heartless. Die.
High techs and khakis when jackin , sawed-off, there s really no place to run.
Niggas get vicious with my click, cause even the bitches carry guns.
