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Correct Shotgun Suge Vs. Nu Jerzey Twork Lyrics
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Correct Shotgun Suge Vs. Nu Jerzey Twork
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[Round 1: Shotgun Suge] Let’s get ONE. THING. STRAIGHT! Certain shit about you is fake Like how you be snatchin’ purses, that’s worse than boostin’ These his last days, it’s no recoupin’ Slam, Shut 'Em Down, it’s no regroupin’ Ironic, think Onyx: I got bucks for Twork in Houston BOW! BOW! This shit loud like an angry woman That flamer comin’ I’m at the gang, who want it? I tried to show lil' bro the ropes, but now I gotta hang you from it! Your “Before” pics, niggas memed that! You choked your last N.O.M.E, I seen that! I mean that! Let two ring in Houston, the cops think The Dream back! Washed-up vet, that’s what a rookie think ‘Til I let it rain and slide on Twork like the pussy stink! Nobody on your staff goon Your man Ryda don’t ride, he a half-goon If Twork show his ass tonight, he’ll get hit with a half-moon! Man, fuck that! Black van, two baby Locs slidin’ out the back Clip curve look like curly fries hangin’ off the MAC! I knew you was a sneaky bitch, with a name like Ravonne Ravonne? You love that fuckin’ ho-? BAOW! The world gon’ mourn over you like Trayvon! You STRAPPED IN!? Well, pull it off the belt, then! You cold as ice, I’ll let him melt, then He get dealt, then I’m shootin’ everybody: Ray men (Raymond) even felt ten I’m the biggest baby Loc on the street .45 a beauty I had to ring this bitch bell: he done woke up a beast I get cool wit’ him, then get his son trust (Suntrust) like where Atlanta play Carpool wit’ the goons in a Santa Fe And a K, drag Ray across Jersey like Tampa Bay I ain’t scared of nobody wit’ the same gender I got that four in, that Ray Catena LeBron: I been coachin’ these niggas, the game-ender The King put Ray in the corner, he wide open for the game-winner! RAN-DOM! You battled on a homo league? You from Jersey! That’s not acceptable on these live streets! You gon’ tell me you did it for the money? So what? That’s like gettin’ booked for Pride Week! The culture like weed: I done smoked me the best You like a roach: I’m just smokin’ what’s left As my pump raise, I’ll put smoke in his chest You know how I rock, shootin' straight wit’ a gun, B Gun me!? Houston, this Bun B vers’ Chun-Li! I’m like Birdman This my son, y’all! Please believe me! I’m the type to do him greasy...then take a picture wit’ him like he Weezy I said, BANG on him: Shaq Attack! Commit the murder, my younguns need a rack for that! Oh, you like to snatch old ladies’ purses? Well, lemme get you BACK FOR THAT! JERSEY! [Round 1: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, yo, hold it down, please, please, please… I say, my MAC is black, and I have bullets bangin’ out a 10 This nigga said “Shaq Attack”... He forgot when he was BRINGIN’ DOWN THE RIM! I don’t wanna have to say ANY of this more than once! Anybody here ever smoked weed and held on to the roach? Good, I’ma keep this short and blunt Bigga 9! BIGGA 9! You see that I been clutchin’ on the same! But it started to get rusty from all the sufferin’ and pain ‘Til I gave it a 30-clip, a beam, and I even buffered off the stains Gave the Cannon a whole new look…Love Don’t Cost a Thing! I’m riled UP! You’s a coward! Assault rifle, the shell with the point...Bowser! Wowsers! I’m SO reckless! You know better Fuck a heart, I’ll look in ya eyes and soul-ch- [Shotgun Suge & Nu Jerzey Twork] YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHH! YEAH! YEAH! [Nu Jerzey Twork] I’m SO reckless! You know better Fuck a heart, I could look in ya eyes and soul-check ya Then a lil' bitch come in between: it’s a homewrecker! Where it’s at!? I turn up wit’ a Desert like Coachella! I’m strapped wit’ a big black AK: they bold letters! I’ll line a can' to him, pistol-whip him woozy… The barrel look like a Venn Diagram to him! I’m readin’ routes Like, do you really got them drugs in your home, or you just seekin’ clout? I bet your bitch will go and give us the bricks if I beat it out Hansel and Gretel: I head to your sweetie house In a outrage Niggas in the crib: house slave I’ll line and shoot, .45 with the silent screwed Extended barrel stretch the bark like, “I am Groot!” Dick-sucka! You dick-sucker! I’m a SIG-dumper, Paul Mason drink-hugger 9, HK, SK: this shit a VIN number Big fucker Nah, two Cals, they twin brothers In Texas creepin’, Tippin’ On Four Fours (.44s): I Slim Thug him! This a Bull thing! A pistol whip that’ll make a mood change Nina, give you the butt Well, show ‘em how to do it now: shake your groove thang! I shoot things! And you don’t wanna see my chrome dump Gun butt, jack up the stock…”Fee, fi, fo, fum” Hold up, pole dump William Larkin to him Wooden stock, with the scope Every target doomed Chris Brown… Excuse me?...Miss!? I SAW YOU FROM ACROSS THE ROOM! I spark wit’ goons! Drive-by, in a drop we cruisin’ Pull up - errt! I chopped and screwed it If I hop out, and he pop out, it’s a chop’ I’m usin’ If I go to the trunk, I gotta get somethin’ out of it like an opportunist I got the drop on dude crib Breaking and entering, we all got hands on a gun Leave the whole house trashed: Sanford and Son I’ma be the champ when it’s done Sniper rifle You ‘bout to see what how many gets With the kickstand Danny Myers: I’m on the ground with this shit It’s appa- Jersey, man! Jersey! [Round 2: Shotgun Suge] Kick his door in! He- Hold it DOWN! Kick his door in! head shot! Ichiro right on his [?] My two sons’ll have the Goonies runnin’ through the crib like Mama Fratelli! Heard he a rat, he Fed bait Heavy steel, that’s dead weight Gun be cut in his casket, a dome shot change his head shape You fuckin’ geek! You fuckin’ weak! You a fuckin’ thief! Street cleaner: I’ll shoot up your block, like, once a week I could split his wig wit’ the biggest SIG’ But why...when I could beat Twork up like Rich The Kid? ‘Sup, nigga!? Fuck nigga! If I slap Twork, the shit come wit’ a buck, nigga! The death of his men got him highly upset Body a wreck Kill his kids, let him live: I demand the respect Big blade under the flesh I’m makin’ more than a mess Type shit to make him stop believin’ in God like NWX Nasty! South Central Bobby Johnson got the deuce pointed at Ray-Ray He can get picked behind bars like JPay Have him on the race in Houston, but catch him back in Jersey like Tay-K Ain’t shit changed, but the state where crime pays He owe me bread? He got five days! Paul Wall, metal in his mouth, the M.O.B days We in Houston parking lot, trunk pop, he’ll be sittin’ sideways! I send one hollow Like Magic, four'll follow (Afflalo) You’ll be underground, king (UGK), with ya pride too hard to swallow I’ll have ya baby mother head missin’ for the goofy shit Or shoot her dead in the pussy: I’m makin’ tuna fish Movie scene, I’m used to this I ain’t crazy...this a ghetto boy (Geto Boys) wit’ the mind of a lunatic These .223s will break brick You’ll be strapped IN!? He don’t shake shit! He just Rap-A-Lot, and it make sense We got a problem, Houston: I’m holdin’ down the Drac' (Drake) like J Prince! I’m out of state wit’ it! If it’s beef, send the cargo Two goons like a Marlo Glock in the car low Shit lightweight, but hit hard like twin Charlo! I’m on his block with my four brothers, makin’ noise again I’ll have him runnin’ down the block wit’ his boys again But at the End Of The Road, four singin’ like Boyz II Men Strike when the iron’s hot: let’s have a steam-off I’ll break his team off Revolver spin like Qleen, and knock him clean off! Stop frontin’, you heard I’m crazy I’m talkin’ psycho Head shot the kid: he a Gerber baby! I keep the steel, Ray, I heavy creep It’s bodies on the steel, Ray, I’m heavy street But we could put the guns down and guns up like… I steel (Still) Ray like Raphael Saadiq Jersey on Jersey: that’s block drama Shells burnin’ like hot lava Face shot, ma dukes gon’ have to cremate him like 'Pac mama Remember that! I never lost to nobody from the state...I’m the KING of that! Jersey! [Round 2: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, YO! Hold it down... I say, yo… I said I’m untamed, but my gun game great Glock, line up perfectly...let’s get one thing straight This gon’ be some of your poorest moments After this, no more opponents You pick and choose who you pocket-check, and we don’t respect that or condone it You gotta have heart on these cards...organ donor! I done- I done been to war with soldiers- I ain’t bringin’ it back! You ain’t catch it, you ain’t catch it! I done been to war with soldiers, the streets is hot I’m from The Town Everywhere I go, I bring a Glock Little 9, but (*chk-chk*) BOW! This thing’ll POP! Then wipe the prints (Prince) Blanket over the baby like the King of Pop! I do BIG damage! Play wit’ a MAC, ya take your roof off…Sims family Big van spin: I got road rage, nigga Two shotguns for Shotgun, and both gauge bigger I don’t care how tall and big you is (ambiguous): it go both ways, nigga! There and back! I played off everything you fear, in fact I said, “Fuck Trick Trick, he get a shotgun for real-” That was for you, ‘cause you were scared of that! Now it’s a (*chk-chk*) shotgun for Shotgun LET’S HAVE A MIRROR MATCH! You did a truce! You made comments ‘bout them niggas from Detroit...but I’m the living Proof! Livid, too .22, deuce-deuce, .45 All them numbers on your back: prison suit! Lift it to- I said deuce-deuce, but that’ll graze and hit him But let this 9 wit’ the laser hit him Docs will have to show this one better treatment...it’s favoritism You know what it’s been ‘bout wit’ this tool? Ever since I picked up, the arm forces...scouting recruit I was confused So many bodies, I was countin’ ‘em, too Went through counseling, too Then I got it Silencer: it sound like it had its tonsils removed So it come out with lesser rage (age) like the Fountain of Youth! I got a thousand to shoot Long Smith n’ Been doin’ the same repetitive patterns since small kid shit I shoot, then get rid of the gun: no false witness I keep dumpin’ the gun, then dumpin’ the gun: I’m autistic! Get caught slippin’ ERRT! Car rippin’! Pull up wit’ a large biscuit Let it point all around ya head: Bart Simpson! I’m all fists, and- listen I’m all fists, and these hands work But I’ll let it blam first I’d rather let a big can’ burst Shotgun with the shoulder strap: it ain’t you wit’ ya man-purse! FAGGOT! RANDOM! But damn, Surf...you sly bitch! You in, you out, you in, you out Why you don’t do ya time, Crip!? I’m sittin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout it...shit got my mind sick Cause nigga I know told got wet the fuck up How he the only dry snitch!? (*chk-chk*) BOW! BOW! BITCH! WHAAAAAAT!?! JERSEY! [Round 3: Shotgun Suge] Lemme talk! Lemme talk! He said yes first, I ain’t sent for this I brought the deuce from the Garden, it was meant for this Your voice: I’m limitless You flew here from V.A You ain’t in Jersey no more, you on the Injured List I get the Mossberg on the string, fam I ain’t gon’ discredit you like that Yeah, you from Jersey, but you not authentic: you a swing man If he swing, man, I’m like Lennox Lewis with the wingspan You ever been shot nine times? No, so miss me with the Curtis shit Like you murkin’ shit MAC-90 with the 30-clip Shit’ll flip his body onstage like a circus trick See, I like your moves How you really got it mapped in I even love “Strapped IN!” But I’m from the era where we battled outside, and we was really strapped in We had the toughest battles, the roughest I had the MAC-90, Jai had the fishbowl Cutlass When I battled Young Miles, we was gripped with chrome Shit went left, Smack said, “Suge, leave them wild-ass Crips at home” Point is...how you King of Jersey and call yourself a soldier? You ain’t never been in the battlefield and had to look over your shoulder What his life like? WHAT HIS LIFE LIKE!? While I was gang-bangin’, he was lane-changin’, puttin’ holes in his face Piercings, lookin’ swole in the face! You threw the King card out too early: I’m still holdin’ the Ace! WHAT HIS LIFE LIKE? While I was puttin’ work in Grape-Street-Crippin’, started rappin’, chasin’ for a change You was twerkin’, turned Piru, now you rap You just practicin’ the game! What his life like!? While he was in that parlor, gettin’ his nose ring I was hangin’ out an Impala, lettin’ that nose ring! He ain’t never slide on nobody with the blicky sparkin’! He empty talkin’! I’m from South Ward, where it’s the biggest market I was Home Alone in the trap like Macaulay Culkin! If you wanna be the King, it’s some shit you should not do If you wanna be the King, don’t spread rumors about ya niggas that’s not true If you wanna be the King, and you want that top spot After a couple battles, and you’re not hot Just don’t hate on the rest of Jersey when your stock drop! If you gon’ be the King, don’t be a snakey one! Just act right! Everybody say they royal, but real Kings don’t back-bite Listen, King, I’m just tryin’ to tell you some shit not to do Don’t change crews, don’t get jealous Stand behind your soldiers I’m just showin’ you how a King move But fuck that! I just copped a TEC He gon’ get hit, with or without the vest It’s about respect Muslim brother point one to his head like Malcolm X Head shot I bought the coffin, stick this bastard in it I’m disrespectful Type to cut the funeral line, and shoot his hearse up with his casket in it Twork a church saint He be preachin’ like he hold the chrome Superfly: takin’ shots at the priest like Snow Patrol If you got it, then show me, nigga! I’m the type to kill your brother, show up to the funeral like, “Where that bread you owe me, nigga?” Jersey! [Round 3: Nu Jerzey Twork] I say, yo I say, yo I say, YO! Hold it down, hold it down I said, I’m a special species I smell blood, and get extra greedy Rusty knife, I bet this blade’ll sting your flesh and bleed it Fuck a gun You get the razor, King...Nefertiti! It’s consequences! Extended clip, everlasting: God’s forgiveness! I’m wildin' wit’ it, and very aggressive Smith on me, I told you I brought guns to the venue You thought I was just sellin’ a message Well, this where it All Falls Down I slid the Wess’ (West) through the metal detector! And get to poppin’! It’s only one move that you have accomplished You could pocket-check me here in Texas Ain’t no use to me actin’ violent When it’s my turn, you get the pocket rocket Then, Houston, we have a problem! I get involved! You was ridin' Surf wave, ‘til he left you to swim with sharks You ain’t make it here on your own, my nigga! You been a fraud! All that “standing on your own two” bull: Minotaur! Did him wrong! I did him wrong! (*chk-chk*) Old shotgun, but you ain’t livin’ long! BOW! BOW! The whole building get a cap: synagogue! Extended jawn, I got a round to air you Mario, Donkey Kong: up the ladder, down the barrel! BANG! BANG! I BEEN killin’! Hoodie on: the Grim near him Revolver, music to my ears: the spin realer! (Spinrilla) I’m a MONSTER! You fugazi! I don’t do favors! I’m at the door, beggin’ for Sugar: new neighbor Who fakin’!? Glock 9, .45 with the blue laser These shits go hand-in-hand: group prayer! Who fakin’!? Coupe racin’! Nah, I’m creepin’ low I don’t see Jimmie nowhere in sight: he keepin’ ghost See, you soft, and you don’t pop out of ya hole I see ya soul! See, we don’t think little Suge'll (sugar) pack it: he Sweet n’ Low! I play the post! Big man! BIG MAN! Let’s see if they could move me Hit ya melon with a banana (*swoo*) Or put a Grape on the blade: I’ll make a smoothie! This bitch be bluffin’! You ‘bout 6-foot-somethin’, and big for NOTHIN’! Push my buttons One tap to your jaw’ll drop him I’ll tap and put you on ya pockets! Nigga! I’m creepin’ up to BUST it! John John and Hitman puttin’ up money for you? Yeah, I was peepin’ that discussion But your cost of livin’ with 12 shells has made it Cheaper By The Dozen! You ain’t tough! We know how you rap, you big fuck! “Clips dump! Switch guns! I’m from Jersey, nigga: fist pump!” But you ain’t write Surf one time, nigga: you switched up Big pump Who the shooter and the driver? It don’t matter: I’m blowin’ the whole whip up! I’M STRAPPED IN! I’LL CLAP YOU IN A COMA! MADNESS! I COULD SNAP AT ANY MOMENT! I take a Uzi, and get to clappin’ on you guys! I’m headed to Hillside, masked in a disguise What his life like? (*chk-chk*) He can tell you when it FLASH BEFORE HIS EYES!!! JERSEY! JERSEY! I’M FROM THE TOWN! I’M FROM THE TOWN! Good shit up there, man
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