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Correct You Don't Hear Me Doe Lyrics
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Scarface
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Correct You Don't Hear Me Doe
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Lyrics:
[DMG] Call me psychotive but I'm bad, nigga yo! And I'ma do ya bad, black And when I come, I'm bustin up niggas to hear me, black Ya should of never let a nigga see If there was niggas and bitches and bitches and niggas that hated me Huh, I waited for my date to come-of-age And now I'm of-age I can't escape the fuckin front page So I guess that nigga D is up to hit again I kicks the funky shit and coke, and stupid like I'm Gilligan I'm P, supposed to hit a lick for a jack The only thing I gained is the pain of niggas comin back Nigga lookin for they shit, aggravated and pissed Niggas they can't fuck with my clique I'm here to break em off for chunk A D-E-A-T-H-L-Y, a motherfuckin punk And I be rollin with the brass Don't answer with the ziggers in your hood, he break your neck to roll a Pass, nigga Don't even stop to say 'Whattup?' cos I bust for the fuck And pay some quick to light a motherfucker up Next time you stop me on your block, I hope you leave the place Or be the next to meet the Lord face-to-face Nigga, I ain't the one to take no bullshit Cos see a nigga like the D is game to empty out the full clip So when I come for ya, act like ya know Sittin motherfuckin smooth to the curb but you don't hear do' Chorus: I'ma bring ya to ya asshole (uh) Do it like the G-to-O (yeah) Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do' (But you don't hear me do') Bring ya to ya asshole (uh) Do it like the G-to-O (yeah) Bustin on that ass but still I see that you don't hear me do' [DMG] It's time to fuck em up, here it comes, BLAST, nigga! Thump to your chest and they comin out your ass, nigga I grew apart, livin my life as a criminal Niggas G to kill but still I see that you don't hear me do' So I'ma serve it to ya fat, hit the deck, mate Hit the deck mate, call me Flipper when I checkmate D-um divertin nine, Tre-9, full Glock, Glock My Glock makin sounds and it don't stop So nigga pass the swisha quick And I'ma blaze til the motherfucker burn me off my fingertips Cos, see a nigga gotta saty high I try to smoke til I can't smoke and then I won't smoke But still I got my fingers on my shit And click, click, click, ya die, die, die, ya dead, bitch! You tried to test the wrong nigga, be a tested Straight from St.Paul but clockin G's down in Texas Some think I'm talk cos I play it cool But I ain't the average motherfucker, I do the shit that niggas won't do Huh, like pistol whip a woodie for his bank Then after that I gate and grab his bitch and do the same thang And I will pain up the asshole Collectin grips on my drips as I stroll but you don't hear me do' Chorus [DMG] Ain't no mistakin what I'm bringin, you motherfuckers still ain't had Enough So I'ma continue to break you off for proper ass chunk May it be 9, may it be a gauge, may it be a shank Any way you come I'm in your motherfuckin shit, mate! Huh, a nigga bustin caps, smokin fires Quick to bring it to your ass and keep on goin til your ass die And it ain't no runnin down dem backstreets Cos I got slugs to catch em with Carl Lewis on the track meet Huh, and still you wanna test a nigga so Audi 5, nigga, hate to see ya go but you don't hear me do' Chorus Yeah, check it!
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