No Get Bacc

No Get Bacc Lyrics

[ VERSE 1: Young Prod ]
If any crew wanna mad-dog, if you look it's on
I got this .44 chrome spittin at your dome
Comin from the shoulders, droppin muthaf**kas like boulders
Rollin with my chip Motorola
Blazer all f**ked but I ain't walkin
Head feelin light cause my stomach startin to talkin
As I roll by hoes yellin out: "Star!"
But I yell back: "b**ch, look at the car!"
You seen me in a video, don't think that I hustle
Stressin so bad, make me wanna jack Russell
I dropped outta high school askin where the money at
'Man, it's in the rap game' - now it ain't no get back
'Homie f**k that, where y'all from, loc, you bangin?
I thought the Cartel were some 87 gangsters'
Look homie, I'm a player and I ain't got time
Two steps back, buck you dead in your eye, eye, eye...

[ CHORUS: Young Prod ]
If you trip off your mouth and my strap's in my lap
It ain't no get-back, prepare for your casket
Nutshell Nazi, the S.C.C.
Persist to get p**sed on, get yo buster ass on

[ VERSE 2: Prode'je ]
Should I bomb? Yo, let's commence to kill a
Pussy-ass niggas talkin bout they pullin triggers
We got the back streets sowed up
Live on luck will leave your ass f**ked, nigga, hold up
You pickanannies be talkin plenty bullsh*t
But you ain't sh*t when it's time to get with
Real niggas from the S.C.
I peel your cap off
Nigga, now turn that muthaf**kin rap off
5'8" with a big stick
Muthaf**kas try to run but I'm comin at that ass quick
I'm so bad I kick my own ass
You disrespect me and I be gettin wreck just like a plane crash
Dash, I have your ass burnin like some hash
Ash, you see a mash, then you hear the blast
Ask the Prod what that be like
I tell you gangster, now you know it's all to the g right

[ CHORUS ]

[ VERSE 3: Havikk the Rhime Son ]
It's ninety-muthaf**kin-six, gees finna ride and slide
Cartel Gang down to hoo-bang in a five
Niggas gettin twisted but I don't give a f**k about a buster
Cartel till I die, muthaf**ka
A nigga dressed thuggish, postin with the heater
Decapitate yo dome with this nine millimeter
'draulics on amp, the ass is on call
Hit the second switch, b**ch, post my d's on the wall
Chuck T's posted on the curb
'yac in my palm and I'm chokin off that herb
I swerve back to the 9 block, pager goin wicked
Check my phone book for a b**ch who wanna kick it
Diarrhea-at-the-mouth muthaf**kas better ease up
S.C.G.'s regulatin fools g's up
Rhime Son, nigga, on deck puttin it down for the set, loc
Mobbin murder deep with my kinfolk

[ CHORUS (repeated till end) ]