Curren$y - Camouflage & Murder lyrics

(*talking*) Ay n***a, ain't you Mac What you doing in this motherf**er [Mac] Camouflage n***a what, you'll catch me in the cut f**ing sh** up for every n***a, the bigger pig the bigger trigger Cause my n***as, in the river Stories about the Mac, will make 'em shiver They prolly at they crib loading they techs, wondering who I'ma smoke next Patrolling they set, Malcolm X n***a The New Orleans Jesus, pack a tre-deuce And you can bring the drama to Zeus, if you heard about what that 3rd about n***a feel that, that fake sh** we bout to k** that On the for real black, I never show-boat Be on the low, like a black sto' the Mac flow Sorta like a cracked flo', a different plateau the Mac show When I attack though, I never turn my back cause The bullets, penetrate the back slow (*talking*) C-Murder (what n***a), man number 187 (what's hap'n), oh you in on murder one (f**ing right), get your sh** boy you going upstate (f** the world b**h) [C-Murder] n***a I'm C, motherf**ing Murder never scary But it's very necessary, to leave my adversaries buried Crack sales bring b**hes in lines, but I'm eternal Lethal weapons stay co*ked, many n***as may drop From the top like flies, I despise you hoes With crooked smiles, make a n***a wanna 'nap your child n***as bleed, my enemies fearing attack They move with silence, when n***a bring the violence Do they know, me and my soldiers tighter than glue We pa** b**hes and weed, my n***a Mac planting seeds Let the devil tell it, bailing making the scene I whoop the n***a a** in jail, he was a dope fiend And no collect calls, ghetto pictures on the wall You gotta crawl and fall, before you ball n***a f** y'all Around the way, my n***as feel what I'm spitting It's Camouflage and Murder n***a, so pay attention b**h (*talking*) Curren$y, I hope you got currency Cause your bail two million dollars, you understand that You lil' rap mother-(hol-hol'-hol'-hol' up man I got two million dollars cash, call Stan I'm out this b**h, you heard me) [Curren$y] What you gon do, when you get out of jail Skerch off the scene, in a yellow ML 4-30, Benz truck With four b**hes inside, who all about letting a dog and his friends f** I'm too large, for haters My n***as smoke bud tote guns, picture they all on paper I'm talking bout n***as like Big, you know who Ceedy, Wayne, Geezy f** it the whole crew Uh we all roll with nines, and bout letting 'em fly But I try to stay on the low, with mine Catch lil' daddy slipping, point the 4-4 at his spine Leave your body in the forest, where no one can find And you boys, don't want none of that I know n***as that look at jail time, like Summer camp holla back (*talking*) Yeah ya dank, ha-ha-ha