I used to push twenty-fo’ deep in ’92 like cocaine
Had them gangsta n***as riled up doin’ it wit no name
Stayin’ at the roach motel two for two cheese hamburger deals
Doin’ shows in broke down clubs just to get a meal (Just to get a meal)
I’ma keep it real it was all skills that paid your bills
And the fact that you don’t pay n***as that sh*t gon’ get you killed
But don’t worry about me partna’, like I said I’m already dead
And I hold this infrared point blank range steadily at your head
‘Cause I’m a blocc n***a you know what happens when you f**kin’ wit us (f**kin’ wit us)
We cut your tongues off switch n***as and stuff bloody ’em up (bloody ’em up)
Run up in the cut, fucc it up, rough you up and put you up (Put you up)
These broke n***as don’t give a mothaf**k (Mothaf**k)
I want that meal ticket and we never will kick it ’cause you funny style
Still wouldn’t f**k wit you even if you gave me my money now
Funny how ridaz get bought up, you about to get caught up like Bo King
You be gettin’ n***as that’s why you ain’t got no team n***a
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
So f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
F**k your record company I’m about to blast off
I was young dumb full of c*m full of O.E. and Rum
Spittin’ chunks of meat all heat always givin’ up where I’m from
In every verse 24 Blocc, I don’t give a fucc
Suppose to be in the studio but I’m somewhere drunk f**kin’ up
But like Too Short I ain’t trippin’
Used to be a record thing now it’s a new sport put your clip in
I heard you be dreamin’ about n***as in ski masks with bottles of black mola**es
Ran up in your pad quick and woke your a** up wit the magnum
I could have been platinum, a loc’ went bad when you jacked him
You gettin’ old like Carl Weathers you ain’t got no Action Jackson
I’m mirror watchin’ when I’m packin’ n***a give me my sh*t
You the type of n***a that’ll pay for hits I don’t pay for sh*t
‘Cause I’m broke you wanted it that why for some reason
Couldn’t find you for nuttin’ ever since I did Season
Of Da Sicc, pick ’em off like Deion everything you see me on
Is stolen in your life pure wit’ a colon seriously until it’s over
I’ma always be at that a** wit’ a butcher knife
Askin’ where you put your wife and why’d I took your life
Houses got bought up you about to get caught up like Bo King
You be gettin’ n***as that’s why you got no team
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
So f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
So f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Sh*t it’s gettin’ to the point where I’ma smash on everybody
And it’s gettin’ to the point where I don’t f**k wit nobody
Believe it I tuck the ol’ shotty in the glove compartment
Hit the town wit the pound, it’ll be ground round if you start sh*t
I spark sh*t, that heat you up and cool you off sh*t
No choice for relinkin’ homes I’ma get my profit
We struggled for years on the bus wit a record out
If it wasn’t for shows I’ll pull out the tec to take you out
Hit the cut and lay low ’till I get my sh*t right
Interrupt your day with fadeo’z put 44 holes in your windpipe
They know I’m… I’m sicker than sick when I split your sh*t
Leave you coughin’ up liver bits, f**kin’ n***as’ll get your grip
It ain’t safe, n***a where was yo’ faith? We could of blew up
Better watch how you do stuff can’t wait for the new stuff
It’s called Lynch By Inch I bit your b*t*h on the ground
I say where’s the money? Swiss account
B*t*h damn! That n***a’s tryin’ to get me for my papers
Bam! Hit her up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
So f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
F**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
So f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
F**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! That n***a tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit him up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
N***a f**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn! N***as tryin’ to stick me for my papers
Bam! Hit ’em up wit’ enough lead got away wit the caper
Ran! To the 1964 and smashed off
F**k your record company I’m about to blast off
Damn!
You know what I’m saying n***a? (Sh*t)
Can’t do that sh*t for ever n***a (You know you can’t)
You know what I’m saying? You gots to pay n***as (That’s real)
You know what I’m saying
F**k all that sh*t, oh I’ma get mine n***a
Can’t stop that sh*t (Can’t stop that sh*t)
You know (I know) Back here where I’m supposed to be, you know? (Where that at?)
It’s all Siccmade music n***a (You know)
Now what?
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna get me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
N***as tryna stick me for my papers
Tryna stick me for my…
Rest in peace Biggie and 2Pac
You know what I’m saying
N***as put it down
Shouts to them real n***as putting that real deep sh*t
You know what I’m saying, you know who you are
You know what I’m saying, making n***as cry over your sh*t
Sh*t, making n***as ride to your sh*t
I like that type of sh*t you know what I’m saying?
That drunk, high, ride, night time sh*t
Damn!
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com
Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate and an Apple Partner, we earn from qualifying purchases
Brotha Lynch Hung Lyrics – My Papers