Free download
Wicked gangsta wrap.
SHAMAN http://www.soundclick.com/witchdoc
Mista Murda -
http://www.soundclick.com/mistamurda
and J Reed -
http://www.soundclick.com/mrjreed
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #279
Peak in subgenre #40
Author
Big Judg
Rights
Big Judge
Uploaded
July 17, 2009
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.0 MB • 128 kbps • 3:17
Lyrics
[Verse 1]
When I ride through the hood witta blunt blazed up/
I'm faded like a ghost and n*** s better raise up/
Got them weapons/
That glocc to bleed them chests in/
A blaccjacc!/
Craccin a n*** skull open, that's that Tac up in em/
Spit this sh** like fuccin venom/
I'm snake-like. Bitten 'em wit the rhythm that I give em/
My crip n*** s chillin on yaughts/
And downin them shots/
And bumpin my music/
Wit b*** es groovin/
We ballin, that's how we do it/
You knew it had to be them n*** s stayin in blue/
Cuz when them enemies wanna trifle we be sprayin them fools/
And fucc them copper muthafuccahs, hittin the pavement, bailin through alleys and jumpin them walls and then hittin them fences/
Fucc a sentence, n*** /
I'm that wicked n*** . I work that witchcraft/
Don't got no luv for the law. You know I sin bad/
So don't ya fucc wit the Big Judge Loc/
Or the last thing you might see could be a puff ah gun smoke, playa/
[Hook]
You know it's Big Judge/
And he hold a big grudge/
Muthafuccahs you know/
(You don't want yo ass sentenced)
x2
But you finna get sentenced/
Ain't livin no witness/
Try not to find yo murda/
(By the Big Judge Loc)
Stay ridin on snitches/
Stay diggin them ditches/
Them n*** s wasn't heard of/
(By the Big Judge Loc)
[Verse 2]
Speakin for the deuce five tre/
Tacoma, n*** s knew my name/
It's the home of them gutta hood fellas/
Mobbed up like goodfellas/
It's this thang of ours/
You claim you hard?/
So tell me what you could tell us/
Some of ya'll need to watch yo fuccin lip, you don't want no sh** to pop off. Be leavin ya tremblin up in yo Timbalands, fucc yo set bustah. Around here it's a fact ah life/
Real gang bangin n*** s might just snatch ya life/
Every hill is a hood, every blocc is a spot/
Parked n*** s, tinted windows, squadded up, don't get got/
Better be ready to mash on n*** s/
Dumpin and dash/
Or get yo wig split open like watermelon, bucc em and smash/
And hit the gas/
Wit my east side n*** s/
OG Solo, D-Loc, throwin up tre five/
And I don't gotta be trippin if n*** s show no repentance/
Cuz I show luv for my city and Tac-town carries my sentence out/
[Hook]
[Verse 3]
It's just the way it is, you know the game don't stop/
Keep a watch out for yo enemies be ready to drop/
In case them rivals wanna set trip/
They spray you witta tec clip/
And bosses keep them vests on so you better pacc them tef tips/
Judge is the one who deals yo muthafuccin sentence/
Call my Nations n*** s up north witta hit list/
So try to tread softly. Don't be fuccin around wit the wrong muthafuccahs and get yo ass put in checc/
Made a wrecc/
For yo steps/
Comin up in the Tac and they talkin sh** , bringin drama/
Get sent home in a wooden coat to the fam, bring em trauma/
A thang of honor/
They found in the flora, fauna/
A goner/
Wit no hands and no head and no feet you shoulda been stronger/
Before you stepped in the hood, the east side of the tac/
Where bloods and crips and them folks and them eses down to attack/
Any god damn minute, them n*** s finna put some bullet holes in yo body/
Like ladi dadi/
Then roll to the Hilltop, find a party, and chill/
