La Chat - Roll Wit It lyrics

(Chorus) If you boys got beef we can Roll wit it In da club or da street we can Go wit it It don't make me none Blow for blow wit it Crack his head wit a gun I'ma sho split it (Project Pat) In Hollywood at the stop sign Watchin out for one time Clean on them things n***as hate cause I'm bout mine I'm on that weed So the car's kinda smokey The Glock's in the stash Cause I'm dodgin the pokey Its hard on tha street n***as livin like a catfish A project k**a, four kids And a fat b**h Try to flip e'ry quarter ounce Ain't no credit barred We accept cash, merchandise Or ya ebit(EBT) card Like to start sh** At the club we be flexin And we'll k** a b**h At these hoes we be beckin North North to the full My game they respectin A rope to the bumper You get drug by yo neck-in Don't come around here You'z betta reckin You get ya a** blowed off For playin and jeckin Down in this dirty Only real muhf**as rule Hoes wearin flirty skirties Young n***as act a fool (Chorus x2) (La Chat) If there's some ana to handle I'm gonna take care of my biz I got a scope on ya body I'm aimin straight for yo wig I love to show out on hoes I love to cut up wit n***as These b**hes always get wrong So I love pullin tha trigga And since you hoes won't learn I got some lessons to teach You betta call up the pastor He got a sermon to preach I ain't wit that arguin and cussin and fussin b**hin and fightin I'm buckin choppas off top Committed to takin yo life'n La Chat a mac slash k**a Only speakin the real-a I'm tryna let you know its on For you violate a n***a A b**h be quick to talk sh** But do you mean what you say A real k**a don't be talkin They just be on they way I don't think you wanna get down You boys ain't ready for beef There ain't nowhere you can hide I called out an APD This ain't game that ya playin These b**hes comin up slayin I keep my ears to tha street So hoe you watch what ya sayin (Chorus x2) (Project Pat) They lock me up just like 2Pac And I went platinum Layed it down for a calendar Now right back at em Took my game weighed it up On a triple beam n***as rob, k**, murder, steal For that ghetty green U.S. Marshal at my folks house Wanna k** me dead Wanna see me in a pine box Bullet in my head Police mane I ain't did sh** Why you hatin this Ghetto thugs love my rap songs They relate to this Swingin fists Knock ya eyeball Clean out ya face Shoulda known it was sh** starters All in tha place Young n***as on that powder Gon off tha bay Sneakin tones in da club You could get blown away Its a muhf**in clique thang Represent ya hood Slangin cane makin plenty change All to the good Smokin blunt after blunt Pound after pound Throw a dead body in tha trunk High weave ya down (Chorus)