Geto Boys - Dyin Wit'cha Boots On lyrics

Trouble seems to catch a motherf**er with his cards down Gotta keep my drawers up, sh**'s gettin hard now These motherf**in cops be plantin sh** on these n***as Simply cause these n***as got bank accounts that's bigga I just can't get no peace from u motherf**in rollers Everytime I pull my Benz or what watch cha pull me over I'm sick of motherf**ers who be checkin Whitey's coke tip Blacker than a motherf**er, sweat me bout` dope sip n***as just take your cut and get yo a** out my face The only thing you probably get from me is a co*k s**ing pistol case Unless you plan on plantin a lil' somethin in my sh** Just because you ain't got sh**, b**h Give em a badge and a trigger and that makes em figure That they can f** with a million dolla n***a They got u mixed up, fixed up in the Segas, shookin Indo Getting f**ed up in the gank hole The only way you'll whip that motherf**er is when you whip that Motherf**er And we choke the motherf**er (Me Stuck the motherf**er!) So when you hear my song and wanna get it on You better come prepared motherf**er. You dyin wit cha boots on. Chorus: Put your foot in my sh** and let me try on your hood Dyin wit cha boots on Put your foot in my sh** and let me try on your hood Yeah Interlude(prison guard talkin' to inmate): Guard: Do you know how many years you're facin inside? 25 to life and that's on the real So you better snitch on your partner Inmate: f** that! It was Brad Dawg, I ain't goin out by myself. n***as getting caught, doin time so they snitchin They pickin n***as up on funky suspicion We'll be goin down for some questionin we think And end up gettin hit wit the f**in kitchen sink Rackteer and laundering, Kingpin wondering If they got some unsolved murders then give them some of them Just because we're n***as and they figure we're no smarter We sell each other albums, start frattin our partners They start bringin up sh** that happened back in 85 And then comes the largest jury b**h they f**in time You might as well play the state Cos you come to day for day And sellin out your homeboys ain't the sh** Cos ya'll gon have to die in this b**h, b**h Lobbin wit cha white suit on And dyin wit cha motherf**in boots on Put ya foot in my sh** and let me try on ya hood