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Correct Young G's Perspective Lyrics
Lyrics
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Artists: J
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Junior M.A.F.I.A.
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Correct Young G's Perspective
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Song:
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Lyrics:
Some Junior Mafia shit right here We just gonna set it off We's know the deal This shit is real On this end uh Shit is real on this end No friends J M (Shit it real on this end) Shit is real on this end (Shit is real on this end) No friends J M Got into my mind Shit is smoked up, my sight is blind Cock back the nine, 'cause I might not like what I find Murders I seen, killer fiend Through the endosheen Mean burst into flying milloteen Into see I sit, till I'm rit I use the gun and slip exhale Hollow tits Rub my pointer angle This must be the devil's triangle Confused, so I mangle Demons I had to strangle Perfesion hit man, And so they guns Multi clips I grab my gats Got go back and let him pull it I said I'm rough a real bitch Nigga, you better back up With the four-four devid loaded So motherfuckers slack up I shit the raps and craps Give me my snaps Bitches wanting the claps 'Cause I'm leaving them with fucking gats I write rhymes, the gay mind The maintain mind The rag around my head is for the gang sign So with the bottom lick the sha body shody Fear nobody at less catch fucking bodies On all you bitches, gang-bangers, snitches I get so fucked up I don't know Which, which, is which is Loss need a part of me Trifling and stifling MC's on they ass Two snakes in the fucking grass, nigga Do you know what time is is? No friends, J-M [Chorus] (What you want?) Yo keys, G-S 3's, the papes Busing in bitches Making imperionts late Cleaning out cribs Coke crums off the plate Niggas real protctive Young G's Perspective (What you want?) The keys, G-S 3's, the papes Busing in bitches Making impirionts late Cleaning out cribs Coke crums off the plate Niggas real protctive Young G's Perspective (Lost) The dirty nigga, trigger Fuck the looking good shit I rather grab my gat And cock bullshit Heat I ceep When I creep Using to sneak into leting kept treck And count them greens A nigga drops I wish it was the cops Shit is hot The motherfucking block, lock Wicked creator Life eliminator Continue to sinue Murders on a menu Which get in you Meet the boom on the stab On blood harvester tomb Ctach a body ever full moon MC's with temptaion They're part, afixiation Snake relation Like proper damn nation Since birth On this scortched dirt Badness with the lyricals Pocket full of miricles I'm sick, and sick of being tired Ain't a soul I fear Too tired to care And sunwise To let my temperature rise Eagle eyes Don't believe in me Believe your eyes Should I cry? 'Cause I wet a nigga then he die So cock my lie roll up and get high [Chorus] How cause dirty bodies and glut cluts Very busses and buck shots Cock gluts and run the block Niggas in they clean they clucks Niggas can see me nuts Let it get hot Murder mo niggas and gotta load of reps She think mets and cot Because I only get drastic So who hasta, black plastic Specs in the back with all the caskets Who can be mo killa? Blood spilla? Clips with hollow points So when a nigga slips He shits like he's got salmonela Danger approaches Checking for who gets closest You're closest to get my focus Smoke the rookies like roaches Who can cause more terror then this Like a full terrorist Breaking niggas like matches Broken bitches approaches And you know this Nigga lets it increase With mo heat than a heater Specially when I got my milometer Burning up these niggas like VD These niggas try to see me Now I'm making benders like Houdini [Chorus] No doubt, no doubt The Bay Area meets Bedstop Black Jack Junior M.A.F.I.A. Frank White is the fucker Keeping it real for the 9-6 until, uh Yeah, no friends, J-M Uh, no friends, J-M I lead a Black Jack Uh, no friends, J-M Uh, the snakes No friends, J-M, uh No friends, J-M, uh Uh, No friends J-M
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