Thugged out shit Lyrics

DJ Clue Lyrics Thugged out shit

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 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #

Thugged out shit


by DJ Clue. Buy album CD: The Professional


[Featuring DMX Drag On Eve The Lox]
Yo if you gonna sleep on somthing
Might as well be a bed
And if your gonna crack shit
Might as well be a head
Cuz if you targeting the LOX you might as well target a box
That you gonna sleep in for years all covered with rocks
Cuz I think not I pop shots I double what yall got
Ya hot shots and got blocks ya punta muchacha
I'm the days of school, I muther fucking rule
I drive my chain and cork ya and keep it cool
Thats the ice B. I'm pricless. The iciest
And I dont gotta wear fatigues to blow out your chest
My bullets thump when I lace this fly shit pump
And baby I be on it yearly aint no poppin the trunk
But if I, pop the trunk its to hear your rag
Shit just wipe down my windows,on the side of my jag
Must I brag, my whip paid for, yours tagged
And every chick you grab, Sheek been done bagged
Yo I hope you aint tounge kissing your spouse
Cuz I be making love in her mouth
Type of cat that fuck at your house
Too slick? Mean she be buckin' my tip
And before you know it, I'mma have her suckin' my dick
Jada, if I kiss you now, you die later
Been nice, since people was watchin' movies on beta
Ready to clap, everybody giving me dap
And belive it or not, we be the ones setting the trap
Listen to yall shit. Then listen to our hits
Aint nothing yall cowards could do, got this
Thats the reason now, yall players aint got shit
Cuz every time I turn around, yall arrested
For those thats narrow, I just smack them with the barrel
Give it to them after night, like Kains cousin Harold
The RUFF RYDERS (WHAT?)
THE RUFF RYDERS
x4
Cut you and your son
Ya know when its done
Show me the money, I show you a gun
POP SUCKER
SB'll spin corner while I party with dun
I clap you I clap him, and thats rule number one
Suckin' my clip
And I dont give a hell what you spit
Who you are, where you from, and who the hell you can get
Cuz I sell records, and I got a jail record
Ya niggas aint sayin' shit till yall bare weapons
And even when your dead, you can still flinch and get it
I ride about and smack you, cock back and clap you
Styles be ya favorite rappers favorite rapper
Aint no surprize niggas, only run with recognized niggas
Baby girl, want the world? Shuger pie niggas
No tops, take em in all shape and size niggas
No lie, prefer them ready Do or Die niggas
What, what you want
Cutie starin at me like "Damn, where you from?"
You be comin at me, like "Can I get some?"
Lick your lips from this brown sugar
Suck me like a thumb if you want till I cum
Hook
I be the D R, A G, dash O N
Slash often comma makin niggas orphan
They call me Drag-On. I'm hot scortchin'
Keep the block roastin'
Like dutch when the flame comes a toastin'
In my eyes you can see what summers holdin'
Realize, any guy, broad day, rider
I burn to a degree of 130 my gun dirty
Cuz I got one burby, so you better run hurry
Or catch one early
You wrong, tryin' to touch me
what type of shit you on?
You better throw your boots on, and your unflameable suits on
Cuz I'm comin' through in a Yukon
Black tinted with gats in it
Catch you while you smokin', send your casket with a sack in it
Thats only half of it
Cuz yall are half ass yo
Cuz we one whole and yall niggas, is one slash two
My gun blast you
Tryin out the flames. Are your firemen?
And catch one hell of a back draft,
cuz my fire reach higher than
Its my, survival instinct that keeps my head above the water
Every day I show another how I love a slaughter
Plug your daughter
Whith more holes than swiss cheese
Attack the bitch and stop for the leach
With these, I shoot the breeze
And its thought, enough keys from the cubans to build a fucking fort
I'm caught up in somthing that I cant control
Trying to get a hold of a bank role and stroll
Catch bodies like a cold. And stay sick
So face it, make me chase it, I take your life and erase it
Waste it, in the fucking streets
Cuz It aint worth shit(a)
The undertaker take your ass under the earth
Quicker, I love money, but the scam is hot
So I snatch up my man and hit the gambling spot
20 grand is got, one shot and you got less
What use to his chest, is a mess under his fucking vest



sheet music Buy DJ Clue sheet music
cd Buy DJ Clue CDs
guitar tabs DJ Clue guitar tabs
Album: The Professional (1998) Lyrics
cd Buy "The Professional" CD
  1. Intro
  2. Ruff ryder's anthem (remix)
  3. Fantastic 4
  4. Queensfinest
  5. Exclusive new shit
  6. Fantastic four
  7. Gangsta Shit
  8. Thugged out shit
  9. It's my thang '99
  10. Mariah Carey
  11. Whatever you want
  12. That's The Way
  13. I Like Control
  14. Bitch be a ho
  15. That's the way we like it
  16. If they want it
  17. Pain In Da Ass
  18. The ruff ryders
  19. The professional
  20. Brown paper bag thoughts
  21. Cops & robbers
  22. Made Men
  23. It's on
  24. No love
  25. Come on

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