статистика каталог исполнителей песен  
песни: 61179
группы: 12214
  • 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
  • А
  • Б
  • В
  • Г
  • Д
  • Е
  • Ж
  • З
  • И
  • К
  • Л
  • М
  • Н
  • О
  • П
  • Р
  • С
  • Т
  • У
  • Ф
  • Х
  • Ц
  • Ч
  • Ш
  • Щ
  • Э
  • Ю
  • Я

  • В сети

    Популярные исполнители:

    Special Needs
    Error Detected
    Alexis Strum
    Joe Diffie
    King Jonathan
    Chapman Tracy
    James Blunt
    Fats Domino
    The Birthday Party
    Studio B
    Don Omar
    The Chariot
    Медведев Олег
    Паперный Т.А.М.
    Cole Jude
    The Jaggerz
    Saint Etienne
    Крупнов Анатолий
    Vedder Eddie
    Александр Дюмин
    Raise Hell
    Georgie Shaw
    Gary Stewart
    Fernandez Luisa
    Len Barry
    Souls At Zero
    Los Bravos
    Bassi Maestro
    RZA »

    RZA We Pop текст песни

    We Pop

    We pop, we brawl, gettin’ money til the day we fall

    We pop, we brawl, gettin’ money til the day we fall

    Double barrel shotgun (blaow), pop son

    I told nigga, just not run

    I saw him on 205th in Fordham

    This dog was frozen, so my high heat thawed him (Wu!)

    I blown ya, you need a blood donor

    My bitch ghetto, like Florida and Laronia (girl)

    Laundry mat hoes, who want clothes?

    I flow checks, one followed by six o’s (six o’s)

    I got hoes, in codes, in different areas

    Four ton whips that’s sittin’ on interiors

    The bass shake in the club like it’s earthquakin’

    I cock arm, pass the bomb, like Troy Aikman (Aikman)

    Play the basement like Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson

    You miserable, you get kidnapped by Kathy Bason

    Thrown to the dungeon, for your spongin’

    Of Wu Killa Bee, what’s your total malfunction?

    We pop, we brawl, get money til the day we fall (yeah)

    My glock (my glock), my four (my four)

    throw shots through your bedroom door (bedroom door)

    From the P’s, to the morgue, cop Louie all the way to my drawers (New York)

    We pop (pop), we brawl (brawl), get money til the way we fall

    Come on, let’s cut the crap, money

    I’ve been gettin’ this rap money

    Crack money, stack money, I’m tryin’ to get that Shaq money

    That Mike Tyson, Michael Jordan, Michael Jack’ money

    Five hundred mill’ and better, dog, yeah, now that’s money

    Act funny, ya’ll make me laugh (haha)

    Frontin’ like you tough, you softer than a baby’s ass

    These lazy ass labels — fuck you! Pay me cash

    My crazy path promoted me into a Mercedes class

    Yeah.., all ya’ll can see is the back of my jersey

    Blowin’ in the wind, goin’ back to Jersey

    Off to Brooklyn, left you back in Jersey

    I was doin’ a buck 90 like a throwback jersey

    Shame on a Nigga, take it back to Dirty

    Run, game on a nigga, I’ll be back in thirty

    Seconds, got the world’s greatest record

    And that money I’mma spend it like your greatest record

    This Division, all the ladies respect it

    Disrespect it and the eighty’ll check it

    It ain’t hard to see how ya’ll ignorin’ the steel

    Niggas that I clap, lookin’ for me still

    Til they look like they came out of George Foreman grill

    Thoughts are stolen on Free, must be on them crills

    Plus my, team gon’ be holdin’ like forty mill’

    Thoughts are rollin’ on E., must be on those pills

    Форма обратной связи