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Correct Testin' My Gangsta Lyrics
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Three 6 Mafia
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Correct Testin' My Gangsta
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Lyrics:
[Dj Paul Talking] [Verse 1: dj Paul] I comes from a city where they love to hate, especially on that Triple Six They see we really got Bentley's and Benz's and they hate the shit They try to come up over us, the radio even help em' at it But yall ain't got no flows, so hang it up you silly rabbits I'ma keep on hurting you boys, by making this motherfuckin' world rock Side to fuckin' silence bitch for years and man we still ain't stop Still ridin' clean, makin' cheese and carrying plastic glocks And please don't try to test us cuz you know we'll let these bitches pop On you hoes, you haters, you niggaz really like us Cuz if you thank us, then you wouldn't try to sound so much like us I'm the K-I-N-G of that M-P-H-M-S (Memphis) H-C-P, to the E-N-D, others gone be less Come prepared, man I swear they wanna be down with my team Don't let the shit talkin' on them cd's fool you That ain't what they really mean The truth can hurt so bad so look in they faces when you play us And watch how they look, and watch they jaw drop to the pavement Nigga [Chorus: dj Paul] Why yall Test My Gangsta These bitches Test My Gangsta [Repeat 8x] Cuz it's on now Nigga yeah it's on now [Repeat 4x] [Verse 2: Lord Infamous] Nigga don't you know that Lord can make your life a living hell And I mean that literally, the place where demon spirits dwell Empty all the buck-shot shells, make your fucking body smell I can fuck you up somewhere, to where you were they cannot tell Fuck me with me, you fucking with the best Nigga so all you fucking with the wrong one I will hit you with the milli-milli gun, got a millimeter gun Blow out ya lungs Like them old I-Tal-Ians, Mafia, devil son When you see me coming, better run for fucking cover bum (Blite!) ak, sk, . 44, Tre-8 This body kinda heavy, D. O. A., air away Bitch you better take notes, 'for you end up cut-throat And ya on the ground bro', with your fuckin' shirt soaked Ini-Mini-Miny-Mo, blow a nigga out his clothes Come out the trench-coat with a Sawed-Off, and lay me down a hoe So if you think Scarecrow ain't a gangsta come and test the waters You will be de-slaughtered, the dearly departed [Chorus:] [Verse 3: Crunchy Black] Why you niggaz wanna test my gangsta? Don't make a nigga run up and shank ya Or put some cement in yo shit and sank ya Or make you shoot yourself and then I'm thankin' ya Throw tile over round your throat and drag ya cuz Get nothing from me, but gangsta love No testin' me my nigga, have you laying in blood Or dig you a grave, cut ya bitch ass up [Verse 4: Juicy-J] (Yeah Hoe!) [repeated throw the verse] You niggaz be trying to test, I ain't no slouch I squeeze my fuckin' fist, my nig', I break the law I call out a hit my nig', I make the fall The handle with the bloody trig', is all they saw 'for yo ugly face was down, on the ground A barrel pointed at your frown, with hollow rounds I bet ya wanna run and shit, it's too late now You shouldn't have been runnin' ya lip, to make me clown Bitch! [Chorus:]
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