Lord Have Mercy - Devastatin'...That's Us! lyrics

[Buckshot Shorty] n***as get hurt on my block n***as do dirt on my block Some push work on my block Little n***as hustle laptops, ragtops In the high-speed chase from the bad cops TNT, f** that, they ain't seein me The heat is in the seat of my three Nowadays deez pop n***as for no reason Like it's n***a season, f** that let's visit the precint Son I got the rubber gloves For the rubber grip snub in the jar by love I play the block like the cars I love The Gods love Buckshot regardless - I burn the hardest I used to be formerly know as the artist Know it's back to Buck, I smack n***as what don't start it Cuz I play the block like corn stores Hardcore where my n***as hold rocks in they jaw [Chorus - Lord Have Mercy] Watch out, shut sh** down - That's us! Keep it King Kong, aim string long - That's us! Gotta haul weight all day n***a - That's us! On fire! - That's us! On fire! - That's us! We don't back down, we back 'em down - That's us! Put the cash up, we mash it down - That's us! Ghetto ba*tards, we crowd around - That's us! On fire! - That's us! On fire! - That's us! [Buckshot Shorty] It's the block where we all hand and we all slang Shots to the mall nang, never ball rang Everybody got game, we hustle and muscle for fame Ghetto celebs, you know my name I put the work on it, I be the first on it And at the first of the month, I'll be the worst on it Them jealous n***as be gettin me hype Wanna make my block hot like my streetbike tailpipe Do what you feel like, cuz I'ma still k** like Twenty n***as who feel hype, cuz I'm still right One in ya windpipe, one hit'cha real light Steak-n-cheese, ain't no mistakin these We pop n***as and we pop deez Especially when we drop trees f** that, we pop with ease n***a this is the block and sh** don't stop Little use, got bullet proof suits to rock [Chorus] [Buckshot Shorty] f** actin like it's all love, f** that It ain't all love when the guns off the gunrack Beef, been there done that 'Til that, a dude can't drill that Even if I never feel that But tickle the sh** you come with or go with You like bleedin with no kit, useless If you got a choice choose this Crown Heights, Crow Hill, everything is Christmas for real We rob and steal Boost a little 'Lo a little Tom Hil' We don't really wear Tommy Hil but everything we rock they steal Money is the root of all evil But the Devil ain't a dollar bill You better get that money - I'm gettin it I ain't bullsh**tin it, I'm tryin to get rid of it Every bit, every little cent in my bank account f** workin thirty years on the paper route [Chorus] [Lord Have Mercy] Yea, yo, yea Black Moon style, what Yea, yea, what, yea Beatminerz style, what, what Uh, uh, what Lord Have style n***a Uh-huh, uh-huh