Real Loccs-Brotha Lynch Hung

Real Loccs - Brotha Lynch Hung (feat. Suspicion) (Lynch Talking) About to leave the studio it's 9-11, 2002 Up in here wid my ni**a C-O once again Ya know what I'm sayin? And the motherf**kin' bad news is What? Suspicion is back Ya know, here we go (Brotha Lynch Hung) I got that spit venom sh*t that'll wrinkle up ya denim sh*t F**k them niggaz they all hoes I run up in them quick Turn 'em into statues, lead tattoos I stay Twenty four deep and bring niggaz the bad news like The Metro Section I spit petrol like gas nozzles Bang wid my thangs ni**a, you the last models From the Garden to the creep module I'm off the bottle makin' money like I won the lotto You wanna follow wid ya tongue stickin' out ready to lick these nuts Had a dream watchin' me get out the four door to get these guts I spit flames, beat niggaz like Rick James get aim Cause like Pac's attraction I grip thangs And it's hard and cold it'll make ya heart a cold I sweat so much I'm so hot, I'm hard to hold And I'll tell you somethin' else fool Suspicion for life Have you comin' home from work late, missin' ya wife And ya kids and ya cribs tore up, I leave ya ribs tore up Nuttin' else better I do, than cut up cold cuts I'm a meat eatin', skin collector been connected Wid some niggaz that'll cut you in the neck and leave you butt naked Layin' dead in ya Lexus, what you doing? Fryin' niggaz like they do out in Texas, Why? Lyin' to niggaz cause they fakin' the love You be the one takin' the slug And you show me that you ain't got no love for me I'm done cuz (Hook) Niggaz that say they real fake as f**k Have you left set up dead in a vacant lot No matter what they can talk all that gangsta sh*t If ya gangsta walk still ain't sh*t I break ya loccs and run up in yO sh*t (x2) (Suspicion) Look we roll sh*t blow sh*t, I been blue sh*t Old sh*t new sh*t, keep it true sh*t Always in a blue fit, and old school kicks Posted where they move bricks if it was me quick I sold sh*t stole sh*t, I had to move sh*t Old sh*t new sh*t, to keep a few chips Man my life wasn't nothin' sweet At fifteen years old was livin' out on the street With rocks between my teeth like where the f**k I'm gon' sleep Grandmomma don't want me and I ain't seen dad for weeks And momma ain't never been there for me It's like she probably never cared to shed a tear for me So now the whole world's like a glare to me Through all these hard times can barely see prepared to leave But I dare one of these cats wid no haps for they fame This rap's for the tracks yeh they wack but they flames Tryna dirty up my name, I leave 'em stained Gunshots to middle of they brain, I leave 'em drained Duck cops from here to the gate, I leave 'em dazed Bust shots at all of them cops this sh*t be crazed Cause f**k goin' back to that place I take the grave Whether you see me go out ridin' or as a slave Just look at how they got us, dealin' wid drama F**k it pour another shot of that Vodka load up the chopper (Hook x2) (Brotha Lynch Hung) I'm young black sh*t wid mack sh*t In the back sh*t make 'em do back flips You must be off that crack sh*t F**kin' wid the tactics got spitz like a gat spit And I'm gonna rip a ni**a to bits for instance I burn incense and think about sh*t I don't need your ten cents juts break 'em right quick (then what?) Shake 'em right quick (then what?), make 'em bite dick You suck lug nuts ya love nuts I plug stuff, cut guts up Ya tough luck punk, f**kin' wid flames around gas Heat, enough heat to cook ya turkey fried deep like Louisiana blow sacks like Santana might Run up in ya spot with the dark blue bandana right Wid banana clips takin' you out, run in ya house Let the nine milli cum in ya mouth Runnin' the South like Cash Money I bang niggaz in the head you a crash dummy I mash niggaz (Hook x2)